


Knight for Christmas

by MissScorp



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Angst, Batman’s early years, Christmas, Corruption, Crime, Drama, Family, Friendship, Gen, Happy Christmas, Mild Language, Mystery, Some Fluff, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:42:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21963772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/pseuds/MissScorp
Summary: It's Christmas in Gotham but things are far from holly and jolly. Especially when Captain Gordon goes missing.
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

Christmas came to Gotham, bringing snow, and holiday cheer. Colorful lights twinkled from rooftops and along balcony railings, shimmered among the branches of the trees placed in front of windows, and glowed merrily from inside dozens of stores. Even the trees of Gotham City Park had been bedecked in holiday finery, each one having been adopted by one of the schools in the city's boroughs.

Children all over the city pulled each other around in homemade sleds, had snowball fights in the streets or made snow angels before the temperatures dropped too low and they got called inside. Those not willing to brave the cold played the latest video game or watched their favorite movie while adults conversed over steaming mugs of spiced cider or chilled glasses of wine.

Alfred Pennyworth hummed along with the song on the radio as he pulled off the Robert Kane expressway. He drew to a stop at the red light, looked in both directions, and then slowly turned once he was sure there was no oncoming vehicle to hinder his progress.

The star atop the hundred foot tree in Gotham Square splashed across the front of the town-car a few minutes later. Alfred briefly wondered if his employer noticed it. He found himself wanting to ask, _Do you remember what Christmas is about, Master Bruce?_ _That it is a time of celebration, of peace, joy, and happiness? About families and togetherness?_

Not that his employer had any family to spend the holidays with. The Kanes had little to do with the Wayne's before Master Bruce was born. After their deaths? Interactions became far and few. Especially after it became obvious the boy would takeover Wayne Enterprises once he reached his majority.

The police scanner in the backseat screamed to life. This, to the butler's chagrin, was not all that surprising. The particular frequency that radio was perpetually set to was one that hardly remained quiet for long. Crime never slept or took a holiday.

Not in Gotham, anyway.

" _I need all available units for a possible disturbance at Gotham docks_."

"Turn right, Alfred." The voice that came from the darkness of the backseat was like velvet steel. "And stop by the alley next to the _Aces & Eights._"

Alfred wisely kept his counsel, saying only, "As you wish, Master Bruce."

"And Alfred?"

"Yes, Master Bruce?"

"Step on it."

Alfred glanced at his employer in the rearview mirror.

"As you wish, sir."

He braked to a stop by the entrance into an alley next to a less than respectable looking establishment ten minutes later. One brow winged upwards but he again chose to maintain his silence. Not because he couldn't voice his thoughts or concerns but because the words would fall on deaf ears.

As they always did.

"Please, deliver my regrets to Ferris," Master Bruce said. "Tell him I will make up for my absence tonight by attending his New Year's Eve party."

"I thought you chose to attend tonight's party to avoid attending that one, sir?"

"I was." There was a sigh. "I wasn't expecting anything to interrupt my plans."

"Shall I use the standard excuse as the reason for why you could not attend his dinner party this evening?"

"I have a standard excuse?"

There was a strong hint of amusement in that velvet baritone. As if his employer wasn't fully aware of what the gossip columnists wrote about him.

"Yes," he said dryly. "The standard excuse being you are regrettably detained by whichever of Gotham's beauties you happen to be consorting with at the time."

There was a discreet cough from the backseat. It almost passed for a laugh. Given how his employer infrequently engaged in any sort of joviality, however, the butler couldn't be sure of his interpretation of the sound. Yet it eased some of the anxiety plaguing him.

"I'm confident you will handle things with your usual diplomacy, Alfred."

"I shall, Master Bruce."

Sirens bleated in the distance, ending any further discussion. Alfred glanced out the window just as a spotlight shined something into the night sky. _What is that_? His brow furrowed as he studied the rather crudely designed symbol. _A bat? Whoever would draw something like that and place it atop a spotlight?_

Not that it mattered, he realized, sighing. He would have to point it out to Master Bruce.

There'd be no living with him if he didn't.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Alfred?"

"Do you see that symbol?"

Alfred heard the slight sound his employer made deep in his throat and interpreted it for what it was: _interest_.

"That's coming from the roof of the GCPD building in Burnley."

"Do you think someone is trying to make contact with you?"

"It could be Gordon trying to make contact with Batman."

"Why would Captain Gordon call Batman in such a fashion?" He saw Bruce glance up, that very same question swirling in the depths of his eyes. "Can he not contact you on the private frequency you have on the GCPD's radio network?"

"He would unless communications at the GCPD have somehow become

compromised."

"What are you going to do, sir?"

Not that he needed to ask.

Alfred heard the snap of material as it unfurled and imagined Bruce swirling the cape around his broad shoulders.

"I'm going to the GCPD," he said. "I want to make sure all is as it should be."

 _It's Christmas_ , was all Alfred could think. _You should be sitting around a fire with a wife and children of your own. You deserve more from your life than chasing bad guys. You deserve love and happiness. To have a life of your own_.

There was no stopping his employer, however. He'd do exactly as he felt he should.

So, Alfred just sighed and said, "Do be careful, Master Bruce. You have no idea who is trying to make contact with you. It could be a trap."

"I know it could be a trap, Alfred. I plan on being the one who springs it." The back door opened then. A brief chill snaked its way through the luxury car and crept along the back of his neck. "I'll be careful," he heard him rasp in that voice he used when he was his alter ego. "Get back to the cave as soon as you can. I might find myself in need of your help."

"I shall do my very best, sir."

Then the door closed and his dark figure was swallowed up by the shadows. Alfred released another breath, waited barely a moment, and then drove off. He caught a glimpse of that crude signal from the corner of his eye and felt a pull deep in his belly.

 _Do be mindful, Master Bruce_ , he thought, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. _There are any number of enemies who would dearly love to put Batman out of commission_.

And there were none more dangerous than the man his employer had tangled with just a few nights before: the Joker.

 _Please, don't let it be that animal_ , was his final thought as he embarked on the short trek back to Wayne Manor.

...

Batman plunged into the thick shadows, his cape floating behind him, and his boots preventing him from sliding on the icy cobblestone. Every sense was on alert. Many dangers lurked in this part of Gotham. _Some_ , he realized as he leapt over a chain link fence, _that aren't visible until it's too late_.

He passed a group of homeless men huddled around a trash can they turned into an outdoor heater. They glanced at him with empty, vacant eyes. He didn't have to worry about them impeding his mad dash through the alley. They cared about his presence here about as much as city officials cared about theirs.

The neon sign above the _Aces & Eights_ spluttered on and off, its iron lettering bent at unnatural angles. He didn't care to imagine just how it might have gotten so twisted. He found some things were better left unexplained.

Traffic in this part of the East End was absolutely non-existent. Not that he was overly surprised. Park Avenue might be where the districts seedier bars and nightclubs were all located but the cobblestone street was too narrow to allow cars to travel in both directions.

The streets of this part of Gotham rivaled those of London or Paris in their size and complexity. They, as well as the cities rooftops, were the quickest and fastest way to get from one part of the city to the other.

His boots hitting the cobblestone echoed off the grimy brick walls. Frightened rats scurried to find safety beneath boxes dumped outside the back door of a shop with its windows and doors boarded up. A black cat screeched as it got startled out of where it feasted behind a pile of garbage. Broken glass, cigarette butts, crack pipes, and other debris crunched beneath his boots.

Batman paid none of it any attention as he continued heading for the GCPD building. He moved swiftly, dodging the mounds of rotting garbage and stinking refuse with ease. The stench no longer bothered him. He had long become accustomed to the sights and smells of the city he chose to serve and protect.

Plus, he learned to dab a little touch of methylated salve beneath his nostrils after seeing coroners and forensic investigators do so while working on cadavers.

The street lamps didn't work in this part of Gotham, but his footing was sure, and his memory of the twists and bends, long. He reached for the grapnel gun attached to his belt before he vaulted a rusted metal gate separating two alleyways.

He was airborne less than a second later, the dark and seedy underworld nothing but a blur beneath him. He reveled in the feeling of weightlessness, imagining it was how another hero in Metropolis felt when he took to the skies.

A minute later he pulled himself onto a gargoyle overlooking the GCPD helipad. He used the filters in his mask to scan the roof for heat signatures. The only figure he located huddled beside the spotlight shining that bat-like symbol into the sky. His eyes widened when he realized it was not Gordon or another adult beside that searchlight.

 _What the_...? His eyebrows shot up underneath his cowl. _What's a child doing on the roof of the GCPD?_

And more importantly, why were they calling for Batman?

He used the special filters in his cowl to zoom in on them. _She_ , he realized with more surprise and rising anger, couldn't be more than eight or nine. Who she was, he didn't know. His cowl wasn't outfitted with facial recognition. _Soon, though_ , he swore as she alternated between glancing at the access door behind her and the sky above her.

 _Nerves_ , he deduced as he continued to watch her. A glance at the corner of the screen revealed an elevated heart and respiratory rate. _Fear of being caught_? Yes. Definitely doing something she shouldn't be.

She cringed when a car backfired somewhere in the distance. Concern filled Batman. Her reaction indicated her fear was from more than being merely caught doing something naughty. It was almost as if she feared someone finding her before Batman could arrive to offer her his help.

 _Who, though?_ he wondered. It couldn't be Gordon. The captain might be a tough-as-nails cop but he was gentle when it came to children. The same, though, couldn't be said about a large majority of those he worked with. _Corruption and greed are a disease infecting more than the GCPD,_ he mused as he watched her tug her scarf up over her nose. _It's a symptom of a larger problem here in Gotham._

One he aimed to solve.

His eyes narrowed into thin, speculative slits as she again looked at the bat-shaped figure stamped on the night sky, face pensive and anxious. She clearly needed help. _Batman's_ help, in fact.

He wanted to know _why_.

There was only one way to find out.

He dropped down and slowly prowled across the rooftop towards her.


	2. Chapter 2

From the roof of the GCPD building, Gotham looked like any other city. However, eight-year-old Raya was wise enough to know that looks could be deceiving. On the surface, Gotham appeared like any other city in the middle of celebrating Christmas. However, it was a city quite unlike any other. Chicago, Atlanta, and even Los Angeles differed from Gotham in two major ways: Batman and the league of extraordinary criminals he often faced.

Those cities also weren't struggling to recover from the disordered mayhem visited on it less than forty-eight hours before. _Anarchy_ and _Gotham_ went together like marshmallows and hot chocolate, peanut butter and grape jelly, and strawberries and whip cream.

Every _day-week-month-year_ brought the people of this city some fresh horror. Every _second-minute-hour_ became one more trauma piled atop dozens of others. When the city was quiet was when people should be their most vigilant. Because the people they thought they could trust to help them? That they _should_ trust to help them?

Well, most of them were who they needed protection from.

The majority of those working for the GCPDwere morally corrupt men. Many no better than the criminals they pretended to lock up. The villains who ransacked the city for their own profit and pleasure were at least honest about their intentions. The ones masquerading as officers of the law?

They simply played both sides of the field.

Sirens bleated as officers raced off to whatever situation had come across the wire. Panic crawled through Raya, trembled in her frozen fingers. She took a deep breath to try to steady her nerves. The scent of holly and pine and fresh snow did not cover up the smell of smoke still clinging to the air. That the city had not been destroyed could only be accredited to the timely intervention of one man: _Batman._

He, and not the GCPD, was Gotham's savior. He risked life and limb to save hundreds of people from being hurt by a man simply because it made him, "smile."

He even rescued her uncle from the pasty-faced creep.

And he did it without asking for anything in return.

Batman was the champion of their beleaguered city. He was a symbol of hope. Of justice. Even the people who lost faith in things like heroes years ago believed in Batman.

Their Dark Knight was why she was out here on the roof of the GCPD.

She needed help.

 _His_ help.

Getting in touch with Batman wasn't as simple as picking up a telephone and dialing a number. Batman wasn't in the Gotham telephone directory.

So, she made her own directory.

She shifted around to stare at the searchlight which stood a few feet away from her. The bat-shaped symbol she affixed to the spotlight to call the caped hero wasn't overly pretty. Long as it worked and brought Batman here was all that mattered.

A sound, much like the flapping of wings, came from behind her. Hope and excitement caused her heart to beat a little faster, her pulse to quicken, and her mouth to run dry. _Has he come_? She certainly hoped so.

Rayaslowly turned, daring to hope, wanting to believe, but fearing she'd be disappointed.

Her eyes popped wide.

Her mouth dropped open.

Because _he_ was standing there.

That larger than life figure who struck terror in the hearts of the bad people threatening to poison this city with their machinations and vitriolic greed.

Batman approached the spotlight without making a sound, his cape fluttering behind him in the breeze. He reached out with gloved fingers to trace the bat-shaped emblem she made from printer paper before slowly turning towards her.

"Did you make this?"

Bands formed around her head, around her chest. Cinching so tight she could barely draw a breath. She needed to pull it together. Here she stood face to... well, _thigh_ with her hero, and all she could do was stand there and tremble like a leaf.

"Did you use the spotlight to call me here?"

Finally, after more hand-wringing and shuffling back and forth, she nodded.

...

Batman noted the little girl's movements. _Shyness,_ he decided, _coupled with an unusual amount of insecurity for one so young_. To scold her for using such a manipulative method to meet him seemed unfair. Especially since he suspected she had not called on him simply because she wanted to meet him in person.

"It's a very clever way of calling me when there is a problem in the city that requires my attention."

Her smile caused her face to glow. It was a glow he, dark and tortured hero he was, wanted to capture in the palm of his hand and hold forever. He found himself enchanted by her despite a voice warning against it.

She crept closer, every step a tentative one, her expression sliding back into that shy, hesitant one of a few moments before. Something told him trust with this little girl was a rare and precious gift.

Secrets swirled in those big eyes gazing up at him with such childlike rapture. _It's like she's lived a lifetime and is simply waiting for the end to finally come_. It was the other reason for why he did not scold her for calling him as she did. It'd fracture the fragile bond between them, and slice wounds into a heart he suspected already had dozens of marks carved into it.

 _Who?_ he silently asked. _Who hurt you_? _Tell me, and I will make sure they never hurt you again._

He crouched so he was eye level with her before asking, "What's your name?"

"Raya."

"And why did you send up a bat-signal, Raya?"

That brought an instant change to her face. The sweet shyness of a second before got replaced by a fear so intense, and so deep that it clutched his heart in an invisible hand and squeezed it tight.

"My uncle is missing."

"Who is your uncle?"

"Captain Gordon."

Beneath his cowl, his eyebrows shot up. He studied her intently and finally noticed the faint resemblance between her and Jim's daughter, Barbara. Both girls had skin like fresh cream, high cheekbones with a spattering of freckles across them, and lips the same shade of pink. That was where their similarities ended, though.

Where Barbara had ginger-colored hair like her father and matching blue eyes, this sprite's hair was a springy mass of dark curls forming a halo around her face. She was a pretty thing, of that there was no doubt. Small of feature and small-framed.

Her eyes were her most striking feature, though. They were long and dominant in her pixie-shaped face, and green as the manicured lawns at Wayne Manor.

"Why do you think Captain Gordon is missing?"

"He was only supposed to be gone for an hour." Her lower lip trembled. "He said he was only going to go and check out what happened and then come back. He hasn't come back. And," she continued in a nervous warble, "he hasn't called to check in like he normally does."

"Where did he go?"

"Blackgate."

"He left you here at the GCPD to go out to Blackgate?" When she gave a jerky nod of her head he asked, "Why?"

"He said I would be safer here than with him."

That made sense to Batman. Blackgate was barely safe for men like him and Jim Gordon. It was certainly no place for a little girl. Especially with men as dangerous as the Joker, Bane, and former district attorney Harvey Dent as some of the facilities newest residents.

However, why the girl was here at the GCPD, and not at home bothered him. _Where are her mother and father_? he wondered. _Where's Barbara_?

"Raya." He kept his tone light but interjected it with enough steel to convey that he needed her to not only listen to him, but answer him as honestly as she could. "Why did your uncle go out to Blackgate?"

"The Crocodile Man got released from his cell."

The Crocodile Man. _Croc_? But... "Croc's in isolation," he said. "He couldn't get out of his cell."

 _Not without help_ , he amended silently.

"Someone let him out."

Understanding washed over him in icy sheets. "That's what your uncle went to investigate."

Raya's fingers ghosted over his, pure ivory against ebony. She was seeking out his comfort and reassurance. Something warned him that if he made a move, if he so much as dared to touch her at that moment, she'd instantly pull away. He remained still even when her fingers slide between his, loathe to do anything that might make this tiny waif scurry away from him.

"What is it, Raya?"

_What's frightening you? Tell me so I can make it stop._

She lifted troubled eyes to his. "I think the Crocodile Man has done something bad to him. He would have come back like he promised if he was okay."

"When did he go to investigate what happened?"

"Three hours ago."

That had his eyebrows shooting up again. "He's been gone for three hours?"

"Mhm."

"Didn't someone in your uncle's command think they should check in and make sure he was okay?"

"Detective Branson said he talked to Uncle Jim and that everything was fine."

Batman lips ghosted up into a smile. "But?"

"But Detective Branson's _lying_." There was anger now in her voice, on her face. Anger and something he understood all to well: _hate_. "I tried to call Uncle Jim on his phone after he said he spoke to him. He didn't answer. And Kathy in dispatch told me nobody tried to raise my uncle on the comm. Then Detective Branson…"

"Yes?" He coaxed. "What did Detective Branson do?"

Something flickered on her face that had alarm bells going off inside his head. It was the same look a doe had while being hunted by a rabid wolf. Anger raged in him, hot, roiling and familiar as realization dawned.

It was no wonder she fashioned a way to call him there. The people supposed to protect her while Gordon worked to protect the city were the very ones she needed protection from.

"What did Detective Branson do?" The question came out harsher than he intended. A flicker of uncertainty fluttered across her face. A shadow of fear and doubt burned for a second in her eyes. Batman ached for it. He ached for _her_. Someone had hurt this little girl, and terribly. He vowed to find out who it was and make them pay.

"What did he do?"

"He's a bad man," was all she would say.

It was all she needed to say.

"Is there nobody in your uncle's command that you could tell this too?"

"Mr. Bullock is here."

"Did you try to tell him about your uncle?"

"Yes." Her eyes filled with tears. "He wouldn't listen. Told me Uncle Jim is fine. But I know something's wrong! I just know it!" Her fingers clenched around his, silently beseeching him to believe her. "Uncle Jim would call me if he was okay. He would have come back. He knows I don't like it here. He knows..."

"Shh." He reached out to cup her cheek in the palm of his glove. "It's okay. I'll find your uncle for you."

She nuzzled her cheek into his palm. Gazed at him so trustingly that it sliced thin pieces in his soul.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

The light of her earlier happiness again filled her face. He went to tell her to go back to her uncle's office to wait but the words froze in his throat when the access door slammed open and two officers in full SWAT gear came barreling out onto the roof.

"It's the Bat!" The smaller of the two men stammered. "What're we gonna do, Yancy?"

"Shoot 'em, ya idiot!"

Batman scooped Raya up in one arm. "Hold onto me," he told her as he reached for his grapnel gun. "And don't look down."

She wound her arms around his neck without a moment's hesitation. He fired a grapnel line at the same moment the officers raised the automatic rifles they carried in their arms. They got pulled into the night sky a second before gunfire exploded below them.


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as he saw that crudely fashioned bat-shaped symbol from the skylight in the squad room, Harvey Bullock went to check on Raya. When he found she wasn't seated at Jim's desk and coloring in the coloring book he gave her, he let out a curse, and raced from the room.

He lumbered up the roof access stairs as fast as his screaming knees and burning lungs allowed. _Need to give up smokin', drinkin', and all those fatty foods like the doctor told me_. He crested the last set of stairs, panting with the exertion, and feeling every inch the out-of-shape forty-year-old he was instead of the twenty-year-old rookie he once had been. He shoved his way out onto the roof and screeched to a halt. Two officers, Little and Smith were aiming assault rifles at the dark figure standing next to a small girl trembling in terror.

Harvey's gut twisted and his heart beat double time. He was about to issue a command for Little and Smith to stand down when Batman scooped the sprite up in one arm. He opened his mouth to demand he put the girl down and surrender.

The _click click_ of assault rifles being primed froze the words in his throat. Shock crashed over him. Little and Smith couldn't be planning on shooting at the Bat. Not while the sprocket was standing so close to him. One look at the men confirmed they, indeed, planned to do just that.

Harvey Bullock allowed himself to believe —at that moment, at least — in Batman.

"Get the sprocket the hell outta here!" He barked at him. "Take her somewhere safe and watch over her until Jim can get her!"

Batman must have heard him because he glanced at him a second before he fired a line from some sort of device in his hand. Then the two were airborne, pulled into the night sky a mere second before Little and Smith opened fire.

"Smith, Little! What the hell are you clowns doing shootin' at a kid?"

 _Shootin' at_ Jim's _kid_ , he seethed silently.

"They're following my orders is what they are doing," someone… _Rolonov_? from behind him said. "I suggest you not interfere, Harvey."

"Yeah?" He slowly turned to look into Rolonov's pockmarked face. "And what're you planning to do to stop me? Huh?"

"Why, kill you, of course."

Harvey reached for his pistol, but there was a loud _thwack_ and then white-hot pain shot across the back of his head and shoulders. He dropped his pistol as he fell face first to the ground. He wound up dazed, but still conscious, thankfully. Harvey rolled to his back so he could face his attacker. Rolonov was standing there with a smirk screwing up one corner of his mouth and a lead pipe.

A snarl burst from Harvey's lips and he went to reach for the pistol he dropped, but his attention got snagged by the appearance of the figure who came strolling out of the shadows of the inner stairwell.

"What the hell are you doing here, Branson? You're on indefinite leave."

"What am I doing here?" Branson looked down at him, his mouth set in a hard, thin line. "Why, I'm just helping to take back what was ours before rats like you and Gordon came along."

"You're a slime bag. Neither you nor Rolonov deserve those gold shields you love brandishing."

"I'm sorry you feel that way." Branson's tone grated on Bullock's already frayed nerves. "We might have been willing to give you a chance to prove yourself an asset."

"Go to hell."

"You first."

Bullock's final thought as the man lifted the gun in his hand: _I'm sorry for not protecting the sprite, Jim_.

Then his world exploded in pain.

…

The clean, fresh scent of talcum powder assaulted him as they got pulled through the cold night air by that length of braided nylon rope. The wind carried it, stirred it, wrapped it around him in the same way his cape wrapped around him. It was a subtle reminder about how the pixie who clung to him, who had her face buried against the curve of his neck, was little more than a baby.

Raya couldn't defend herself from the monsters that lurked in Gotham's shadows. _What she needs_ , he decided as his boots made contact with the stone parapet gracing the roof of the old Burnley Hotel, _is someone who can keep an eye on her while I try to not only figure out how Croc got released from his prison cell, but find out what happened to Jim, as well_.

The question was: _who_? The only person he trusted enough to watch her was Alfred. That was dangerous, though. Alfred was a well-known figure in Bruce Wayne's life. Plus, Raya was an unusual eight-year-old.

There was a keen intellect in her that reminded him of himself at her age. _She'll always question, always explore, always look at all the facts_. She'd never be happy accepting things at face value. She'd get at the truth before forming her opinions. _She'll make an excellent detective_.

He found himself wishing he could be there, to have a hand in her evolution.

 _I want to see this phoenix rise_.

He set aside his thoughts as the question of what to do with this fledgling hammered at him again.

" _Master Bruce_ ," he heard Alfred in his earpiece. " _Are you all right? The police scanners are talking about shots fired at the GCPD_."

"I'm fine," he replied as he stowed his grapnel gun on his belt. "But there has been a rather unforeseen situation."

" _An unforeseen situation in Gotham_?" The butler drolled. " _I cannot begin to imagine such a thing_."

The ends of Batman's lips twitched. Alfred had a point. Gotham and unforeseen incidents went together like peanut butter and chocolate. Tonight's incident, however, was not something anybody could have predicted.

Not even with the Batcomputer running every simulation and examining every scenario possible.

" _What unforeseen situation has occurred_?" Alfred asked. " _Has a parent finally reported the sighting of a black-clad, bat-like creature posing as Santa Claus pattering across their rooftop_?"

"I do not patter."

" _A matter of opinion_ ," was the butler's response. " _You were saying there's been an unforeseen situation_?"

"Captain Gordon is missing."

" _Missing_?"

If there was a vague chord of surprise in that proper tone, it was well hidden. Not that he expected anything less. Nothing ever ruffled Alfred's starched collar.

"Yes," he confirmed. "Missing."

" _Why do you believe Captain Gordon is missing? Could it be he is simply involved in whatever case he's working and does not have time to make contact with anyone_?"

"It's possible," he allowed. "His niece says he went to Blackgate over three hours ago to figure out how Croc got released from his cell. Nobody has heard from him since."

" _That_." Alfred sighed, once. " _That certainly is not good_."

Neither had to expand on why it wasn't good. Any time Croc was free was never good.

"I need to find out who let Croc out of his cell."

" _I take it you will be heading to Blackgate to investigate things for yourself_?"

Batman glanced at the little girl quiet in his arms. Indecision created a volcanic schism inside him. The two sides of him — the vigilante and the playboy — stood at the opposite ends of his mind and warred with each other about what they needed to do versus what they knew they should do.

The vigilante said going to Blackgate was where he needed to go to begin his investigation in not only Gordon's disappearance but Croc's release.

The playboy, though, said the supermax prison was the last place he could take someone as young and defenseless as Raya.

Especially since the prison housed criminals like the Joker.

 _What am I to do with you_? The GCPD was clearly not a safe place for her. Not at this moment. Wayne Manor was also not an option he could consider.

 _That leaves the Cave_. It wasn't the most ideal place for a child, however, she'd be the one thing he suspected she never was: _safe_.

How to get her there? Well, that was a bit of a dilemma. _It could be a good time to test out the remote controls of the Batmobile_ , he reasoned as Raya shifted in his arms.

" _Sir_?" A small bead of worry crept into his tone. " _Are you alright_?"

"I'm fine," he replied. "But there is another unforeseen situation that we haven't discussed yet."

"Did the Joker steal Santa's sleigh and deliver bombs instead of presents to members of Gotham high society?" There was a discreet cough. "Again."

"This is not something that is as easy to solve as that, I'm afraid."

" _You mean you have actually found something more difficult than stopping the Joker from destroying the city_?"

Handling the Joker would be a picnic at this point. He knew exactly what he needed to do when it came to the Clown of Crime. He didn't have to stop and second guess about whether his course of action was the right one. He didn't have to worry about the consequences affecting anybody but him. He was only responsible for one person at that moment: himself.

All of that changed when he chose to become Raya's guardian ad litem. If he took her with him to Blackgatethen he'd have to stop and consider if his choices were the right ones, the best ones, the most logical ones.

His actions could cause her to suffer.

He would also have to stop and explain why his actions were necessary, how they were meant to serve the greater good, and bring the bad guys to justice. _That_ , he realized when Raya looked at him, _is the part I'm struggling with the most._

He didn't have a clue about how to explain why it was okay for him to step on the lines of the law that her uncle served to uphold. Where was the balance between his roles? Was he Batman? Or was he Bruce Wayne? Was there a way he could be both? Or was he just making things more complicated than necessary?

He didn't think he was.

Not when he was looking into eyes that knew far more than they should.

" _Master Bruce?_ "

He shook himself from his dark musings.

"I have Gordon's niece, Raya, with me."

" _May I ask why, sir_?"

"I had no other choice."

He heard Alfred make that small sound that said he didn't completely buy that explanation. Then the butler said, " _I am sure that another way would have presented itself had you taken time to examine all the options_."

"There wasn't time to consider any of the other options. Not when officers from Gordon's command ambushed me on the roof of the GCPD. I had less than ten seconds to make a decision and act."

He chose to leave off the part about the men opening fire on them. It wasn't something he felt Alfred needed to hear him say. Alfred must have inferred it for himself because he murmured, " _Oh, dear_."

Oh, dear, wasn't even the beginning of how bad things were in his opinion. Batman released a heavy breath, watched it steam in the cold night air for a moment before disappearing like a ghost. The temperature was falling, and fast. He needed to get Raya somewhere warm before they dropped any lower.

"I took her so I can protect her."

" _Well_ ," the butler declared in a crisp voice, " _I'm certainly glad that you chose to step up and become the young lady's guardian. However, I must say that Blackgate Prison is no place to take a child_."

"I know it isn't…"

" _Forgive me for interrupting, sir, but what about Wayne Manor_?"

"Do you think it wise to take her there?"

" _Is taking the girl with you as you search for her uncle wise_?"

"What will be the explanation for how you know me?"

" _I am employed by the only man in Gotham who believes in Batman and is willing to help him in his quest to protect the people of Gotham from men like the Joker_."

It was the truth. Up to a point. _It_ _could_ _work_ , he mused.

" _Shall I meet you at the access road leading to Blackgate Prison in thirty minutes_?"

He wisely chose not to nay-say the butler. It wouldn't do any good. Once Alfred Pennyworth decided something, it was decided.

"Yes."

" _I shall see you then, sir_."

He tapped his earpiece to disconnect the call before he looked at Raya.

"You are going to stay with a friend of mine while I look for your uncle."

Her lower lip trembled and her eyes shimmered with a fear that tore at his resolve.

"But I want to go with you."

"You can't go where I am going," he said sternly. "It's too dangerous."

"I'm not afraid."

 _No, you wouldn't be afraid of those men_ , he agreed silently. _Why should you be afraid of them when the person you fear is someone you see all the time_?

"You cannot go," he rumbled. "And that's final."

Raya responded by burying her face against his throat.

 _Dealing with the Joker_ , he thought as he ran a hand down her back, _is definitely easier._


	4. Chapter 4

The nuclear power plant was on the outskirts of Gotham, right on the bay. Officer Ethan Tate expected it to smell, but the odor was much less pungent than he had thought it would be. Thick pipes and other conduits linked various tanks, pumps, storage units, and basins with each other.

Thermal power stations drove a team of steam turbines connected to a series of generators that produced most of the electricity in the city. The complex was designed in such a way that it'd keep the power on no matter what. Most people felt that the excess discharge that flowed into the water that ran below the city was just an unfortunate byproduct of the process.

Tate wasn't sure he agreed with that theory.

Not that it mattered much. People weren't looking for his opinions.

He and his partner, Sergeant Anthony Renaldo, got out of their patrol car and looked at the plant. Renaldo was a few years older than Ethan. He graduated from the Academy at the end of Ethan's first year at Gotham University. Without him, Ethan wasn't sure he'd have survived his six weeks of training.

They had been partners for the last year now, with Renaldo teaching him the ropes and showing him how a beat cop survived in a city like Gotham. Ethan knew he could always count on Tony to have his back, no matter.

Same as he'd always have his.

It was early evening and they had just started what was going to amount to a double shift for them both. Not that they minded. Neither of them had much family. His twin sister, Erin was pulling a double at the hospital, anyway. Working an extra shift made more sense than staying home alone.

Although fresh snow had fallen less than an hour before, it barely coated the ground. The plant's night supervisor, an unlucky guy named Rolston led them to a long concrete trough filled with foul-looking water. There was a slimy green film coating the water's surface — and a lifeless body stretched out atop a grimy metal grate above the basin.

The body was naked and mottled with bruises.

"We get bodies that wash up here a couple of times a year," Rolston explained. "Usually they're just homeless people who're sheltering in the tunnels to get outta the cold. However…" His pudgy face reflected how disturbed he was at finding this particular body here. "We've never had one like this wash up."

"Did you move the body?" Renaldo asked. "Or have any contact whatsoever with it?"

"We had to pull her out to clear the basin." Rolston moved out of the way so they could get a better look at the body. Not that they needed one. "Mike wanted to cover her with his coat," he said. "Outta respect for her being a woman and all. I told him we shouldn't mess with things any more than we had already."

"You know the woman?"

"No, sir." The man shook his head. "Never saw her before in my life."

"She doesn't work for the plant then?"

Again, Rolston shook his head. "No."

Ethan knelt to inspect the body. She was a young woman, he reasoned, maybe twenty-five or six at most. A ton of bruises crept along her upper and lower back, down over her thighs and the back of her legs. Some were creeping black over others already that sickly yellow shade of healing.

He turned her over. More bruises covered her chest and abdomen. Her hands showed defensive wounds. _She fought and hard for her life_. The five bruises circling her throat told him how the fight ended. Ethan heaved a heavy sigh. _What did you do to deserve this_? The level of violence suggested the attack was personal, each blow meant to teach a lesson, and inflict the most pain possible. He stared into her glazed over eyes and said a silent prayer. _Hopefully, she found peace in death_. He took a closer look at her face and froze as recognition washed over him in icy waves.

Renaldo immediately took notice of his reaction.

"What is it?" he asked as he walked over. "You know her or something?"

"Don't you?" Ethan felt sick to his stomach. "Take a good look at her and you'll recognize who she is."

Renaldo knelt next to him to get a better look at the woman's face. Ethan knew by the way his face blanched that he figured out it was they were looking at.

"God, it's Megan." He glanced at him, his eyes twin pools of shock. "What's she doing here? Wasn't she supposed to be helping Captain Gordon with the breakout at Blackgate?"

Ethan shook his head. "No clue." He ran a hand that wasn't quite steady over his face. "Have to ask Captain Gordon about that."

"I'm gonna radio it in…"

Ethan just nodded as Renaldo radioed dispatch. He continued to stare at the pretty blonde who had her life so cruelly taken from her that night. Helpless fury engulfed him. His throat tightened with grief and sorrow.

It took every ounce of his willpower to resist the urge to reach out and close her eyes.

…

Gotham's sewers were dark and dank and difficult to navigate under the best of conditions. Slime coated the walls and ceiling. Pooled upon the cracked ground. Rats, cockroaches, and other vermin scurried off into the gaping shadows. Water dripping from a busted pipe was the only sound heard within a thirty square foot radius.

 _Something's not right_.

It was the only thing Captain Jim Gordon was able to think as he, and the handful of men he had been able to bring along with him, made their way warily into the old tunnels that ran the entire length of Gotham City.

Every instinct screamed at him to order his men to turn around and head back to police headquarters. He should never have left the GCPD. A prudent man would take himself back to the precinct, gather up his niece, and go home to enjoy the rest of this otherwise catastrophic holiday in peace.

Gordon never shied away from the truth.

Nor had he ever shirked doing his duty.

He made his career doing the things nobody else would. The necessary things. The needed things that kept people safe. He made the decisions others either refused or couldn't bring themselves to make. He fought the dirty fight to make sure Gotham's dark underbelly didn't swallow the city or its people in its madness.

He had done plenty of things over the years that he wasn't proud of. Things that took a piece of his soul, and put pressures on his already rocky relationship with his wife, Barbara.

He accustomed himself to making split-second decisions right after he assumed command of his division. It was part of his nature to make decisions based on the moment. That was why the veteran detective pushed onwards despite every ounce of him screaming at him to do otherwise.

He signaled for his men to follow, watching his step as he crossed over a series of slippery maintenance walkways. Rusted and rickety railing couldn't be counted on to save them if they slipped. Raw sewage coursed through an endless sea of drains, the stench so foul it curdled Gordon's stomach. Bile bubbled hotly at the back of his throat. He swallowed it down and pushed on, determination in his step, and pride stiffening his resolve.

He kept his gun drawn as he swept his flashlight over the area. His sharp eyes searched the shadows for any sign of movement. His ears strained to detect even the slightest of sounds. For a few, nerve-wracking seconds he imagined that the monster they were in pursuit of was actually the one hunting them.

It was a disconcerting thought given what Waylon Jones was.

He thought he detected heavy footsteps coming from around the corner. He signaled to the men behind him.

"Keep steady," he told them in a hushed whisper. "And be vigilant. This animal is volatile and dangerous."

"Yes, sir," they replied in unison.

Adrenaline sang in his veins, kept him vigilant. He welcomed the raw edge. After the disastrous events of the night before, he needed a chase like this. He didn't have to think about what he needed to do here. He understood what kind of predator he was hunting down. He knew exactly what he needed to do to bring Killer Croc to justice.

Thinking about the criminal he was here to bring in had Gordon thinking about another man, one he chose to let go despite the law labeling him as a vigilante.

 _I keep asking myself why I don't bring him in. I should have. The law says I should have. But I don't because... well, it doesn't feel right. Barbara believes in you. Even Raya says you're here to help the people of Gotham. To help me do what needs be done._ He blew out a breath as he crept around the corner. _God, I hope they're right._

He rounded the corner and found himself meeting with a hailstorm of gunfire instead of the razor-sharp teeth and claws of Killer Croc.

Bullets slammed into the walls, chipping away at the brick and sprinkling Gordon's face with bits of mortar and stone.

The cramped tunnel served to amplify the deafening roar of the guns, making him flinch. The acrid stench of cordite mingled with the stench of the sewers. Gordon and his men pulled back, taking cover while returning fire. In the dense shadows, it was difficult to make out just who was shooting at them.

Gordon realized that the shooters could be members of the homeless that Croc had gathered together before his latest capture. They could even be stragglers from the Joker's crew that hadn't been rounded up the night before. Either way, the veteran detective found himself envying the SWAT members their body armor.

 _Who the hell is behind this ambush_?

An explosion lit up the tunnel. SWAT officers went flying, reminding Gordon of the paper dolls Barbara used to play with. They smashed against the walls or got sent head first into the stagnant water swirling below.

Staggered, but still standing, Gordon felt a scorching heat at his back and turned to see a huge chunk of the wood beams above him on fire. Dashing into the intersection up ahead, he fled through the tunnels, frantic to get back to the surface and his car radio.

Great whiffs of choking black smoke chased after him, making visibility low and breathing difficult. He twisted around another bend to put more distance between him and the smoke before pausing to get his bearings.

He had no idea where he was at this point.

On his own, Gordon held onto his gun firmly as he sagged against a damp wall, breathing hard, and shaking from lingering shock and growing fatigue. He reached up to make sure his glasses hadn't been broken in the melee and breathed a sigh of relief when he found they hadn't been.

Once he calmed himself down, Gordon started trying to figure out what the hell happened. The only thing he knew for sure was that Croc wasn't behind the ambush. _Who is_? His eyebrows lowered over the bridge of his nose as he tried to puzzle out that answer. That question brought up another: who knew where he was heading and had the manpower for this sort of ambush?

The answer flashed into him, cold and deadly: _Branson_.

Branson was the one that told him Croc had escaped from Blackgate. He was the one who told him Croc was seen heading into the sewers. He even told him which area of the tunnels to enter.

He set them up.

"Son of a..." he grated out in a voice made harsh from the smoke he inhaled. "I should have known."

It wasn't like Gordon had to think long on why Branson had done this.

 _They put me in charge of a division of dirty cops. I stirred up trouble when I started turning them in. I thought I could change them, bring honor back to the badge, and the department. I can't stop them. Maybe, just maybe, though,_ he _can._

Loose gravel crunched behind him. Gordon spun around, his pistol lifted, but he wasn't quick enough.

A heavy blow struck him in the head.


	5. Chapter 5

Dazed still from the blow to the back of his head, Gordon found himself struggling to hang onto consciousness. He thought he heard the sound of someone coming towards him, but with his ears still ringing from the earlier explosion that sealed him and his men inside the sewers, he couldn't be sure. Hands roughly searched him, taking both the gun he managed to hold onto when he fell, and the holdout pistol he carried in a holster strapped to his left ankle, before rolling him to his back.

Playing possum, he cracked open his eyelids just enough to make out the blurry figure crouching over him. The musky scent of Aqua Velva intermixed with the rank stench of the sewers. A wave of nausea rolled thick and greasy through his stomach. Any minute and he thought he'd throw up the five cups of stale coffee and two-day-old doughnut he managed to swallow before receiving word of Croc's release from Blackgate.

A foot kicked him in the side, eliciting a soft gasp of pain and interrupting his thoughts.

"Well," a gravelly voice said. "Ain't this a kick in the ass."

"What?"

"Seems Captain Gordon still's alive."

"Wha? He's alive?"

"That's what I just said, doofus."

Another figure bent over to peer at him through narrowed eyes. "Hey." The guy poked him in the chest. "Youse ain't supposed ta be alive." He scratched his head. "Why are youse alive?"

"Cause the bomb Harkley set didn't kill him as it was supposed to."

"I thought he was supposed to shoot Gordon?"

"Clearly," the man drawled, "he decided not to shoot him."

"Can he do that?"

The man heaved a disgusted sigh. "Obviously, he did. And no," the man added before the other could pose his next question, "he wasn't supposed to."

"Boss ain't gonna like the captain being alive."

"Nope," the first goon agreed. "Boss ain't gonna like it."

"So, what's we gonna do then?" The second man looked at Gordon, dark eyes narrowed speculatively. "We gotsado something."

"I know that, Fish," the first rasped. "Now, do me a favor and shut up so I can figure out what the hell we're gonna do."

Silence fell. Gordon could hear rats scurrying down the tunnel. He tried to get a look at where they were but couldn't make out anything discernible. Footsteps sounded. A glance revealed they were joined by a third man. _Odds keep getting better and better_...

"Boss never said anything about us killing him if Harkley failed to do so."

"Would you bozos shut the hell up?" The first goon let out a vitriolic curse. "I can't think with you two babbling on about stuff I already know!"

Gordon could see uncertainty flickering across both of their pug shaped faces. He half imagined they were trying to concoct a story to tell Croc that wouldn't result in them being eaten. They'd need to make it a plausible enough one that the man, not known for being benevolent, would accept without question.

He almost felt sorry for them.

 _Almost_.

He tried to clear the rest of the red haze dogging him so he could launch a surprise attack while they were lost in thought, but he just couldn't shake the grogginess. Every time he moved his head so much as an inch white-hot pain exploded behind his eyes. He finally swallowed a curse and lay still.

"Guess we got no choice." The lead thug sighed. "We're gonna have to take him to the boss."

The second let out a sound that resembled a bird getting its neck wrung.

"Are you freakin' outta your mind?"

"You got a better suggestion?"

"Boss ain't gonna like us bringing the captain down there!"

"What other choice we got?"

"None…" the second goon said slowly. "But uh." The man scratched the tip of his nose. "Ain't he gonna be mad?"

"He told Harkley to kill the squealer."

"Which he didn't do." The third goon nudged Gordon with the tip of his shoe. "Obviously."

"And it ain't up to us to clean up Harkley's screw up. So, if the boss wants Gordon dead? He can do it for his own damn self." The man spat a stream of spittle in a corner. "He ain't paying me to be no murderer anyway."

"Yeah," the second muttered as he got to his feet. "Yeah, youse right. We'se just the cleaners. We ain't the doers." A grin spread across the man's fleshy lips. Gordon thought he looked like a disfigured English Bulldog. "Youse so smart, Rizo."

"Just shut up and gimme a hand with getting him up."

They half-carried, half-dragged Gordon through a labyrinthine-like maze that left him feeling hopelessly, helplessly lost. Despite his less than perfect physical condition, he tried to map what route these two took, but found that he couldn't keep track of all the twists and turns that the men took.

Exactly where the hell they were taking him, he didn't know. He could tell by the way that the temperature kept dropping that they were far below the surface. The sound of water came from somewhere nearby. Globe lanterns provided more than enough light for the hooligans to navigate the tunnels by.

He was more than a little surprised, and quite a bit disturbed when they entered a large chamber a few minutes later. He angled his head to the side and caught a glimpse of the activity going on below.

Two men, their lean and well-muscled bodies bathed in a thick sheen of sweat, were duking it out in the middle of a makeshift ring while a horde of heavily armed baboons hollered and howled from the sidelines. Scowling guards equipped with automatic rifles stood watch as men in hard-hats and tool belts hammered boards to a skeletal frame.

An underground city? His eyebrows crept up a fraction of an inch. Then his attention got snagged by the sight of the ragged men and women clumped in a group around a long, rectangular table. Most of them looked like they hadn't had a bite of food to eat, a full night's sleep, or a shower in days. They all took turns handing over the wads of cash they collected to a man in a black suit before they scampered off into the tunnels with brick-shaped packages of powder that Gordon knew was not sugar.

This was a subversive society, one Gordon suspected that the GCPD brass and mayor's office knew about, but turned a blind eye towards. _This is about more than just killing cops_ , he realized with rising dread. _This is about getting rid of anybody and everybody who could blow the whistle on this society's existence_.

Branson hadn't set him up just to get even with him for suspending him. No, he meant to get rid of him. Goons in business suits turned to watch as Gordon was hauled by. They turned back to the television they were watching after a moment. The din from the fight reached a feverish pitch and echoed off the stone walls of the tunnels before receding into the distance.

Gordon began to wonder where exactly his captors were taking him, and just who this boss was that they were taking him to see. It clearly was not Croc as he'd initially believed. They descended another level to where a large plume of water cascaded down into an underground river. A bridge had been fashioned to traverse back and forth across the slow-moving water.

The cavernous space had been converted into the perfect hub for the importing and exporting of any and all sorts of illegal trade. Dozens of caches Gordon assumed contained assault weapons or pharmaceuticals were stockpiled on the other side of the river. Men were busy unloading even more caches from the watercraft that was tied up at the makeshift dock. Along the opposite bank, another watercraft was being readied for transport.

What goods were filling the ships hold was something that he didn't even want to think about.

Armed guards in full GCPD issued riot gear eyed him with unholy amusement. Gordon felt his temper surge at seeing just how deep the corruption in the GCPD ran.

It was then that Gordon spotted a tall, well-dressed man standing by one of the open weapon caches. His back was towards Gordon and his captors. The light from the hanging lanterns added hints of gold to the man's neatly cropped hair. Gordon didn't have to see his face to know who he was.

Matthew Berkeley Jr.

Berkeley glanced at them with eyes that were nothing but empty, black pools. Not even the Joker had eyes as vacant. How he missed the truth about Berkeley's nature for all these years, he didn't know. Clearly, the man was a better actor than any of them had given him credit for.

"Why have you brought him here?" he asked the two holding him. "Were my instructions not clear?"

The goons shoved Gordon to the ground.

"Your instructions were to get rid of Gordon's body."

Berkeley turned towards the man, Rizo. "Then why didn't you?"

"Cause he ain't a stiff." The second man visibly quivered with fear. Gordon was half surprised he didn't piss himself. However, the guy showed some moxy when he said, "Youse said ta get rid of him when he was dead. Ya never told us whats ta do if'n he wasn't dead. So we-"

"Panicked," Berkeley finished for him. "And have now cost three lives and not just the one I wanted dead."

The man looked around in obvious confusion. He glanced at his partner, but his partner wisely kept staring at the ground.

"Whatcha mean by three lives, boss?" he questioned dumbly. "I only see-"

"Sh."

Gordon could see both men shuddering now. Berkeley's eyes glinted with dark humor and his full mouth twitched. Then he snapped two of his elegant fingers.

The sound reverberated throughout the chamber.

Gordon could only watch, horrified, as scaly fingers thick as sausages and tipped with razor-sharp claws crept out of the water and inched towards the second thug. Before the man even had a chance to recognize just how much danger he was in, his ankle was grasped and he was yanked face first into the clear water.

His scream was short-lived.

"Death," Berkeley announced in a strong, clear voice, "is the price that all who fail me will be made to pay. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," every man in the chamber responded.

"Excellent." He then glanced at the remaining goon, openly considering what to do with him. The man looked like he was going to throw up. Finally, he nodded in Gordon's direction. "Search him. Then I will have Croc kill him."

Gordon felt his heart stop. Not even he realized just how cold and cruel Matthew Berkeley was. He was almost as evil as that damn clown. _Is it little wonder why Raya is so terrified of him_?

All the blood drained from the man's swarthy face. His fingers white-knuckled Gordon's pilfered revolver. He glanced around nervously, clearly searching for a way out, only to see the riot officers aiming their weapons at him. It was clear they were not going to end up being Croc's next snack.

Escape was not an option.

The man held onto the revolver for a few more moments before his shoulders slumped in defeat. A look of mournful resignation came over his face as he handed the gun over to the guard on the left. He then rummaged through Gordon's pockets, taking out his wallet, badge, and some folded sheets of paper that he had stuffed in the inside pocket of his trench coat and forgotten about.

 _The custody papers_ , Gordon realized with alarm. _Good God, no. Don't give Berkeley those_...

The hapless and doomed goon turned and handed the items over to Berkeley, who discarded the badge and wallet without even giving them a cursory glance. They were not of any interest to him since he already knew who Gordon was.

Not so with the folded up papers. He skimmed them quickly, then paused and read through them again. More slowly this time. His face darkened with fury.

"Is this some sort of joke?" he grated in a harsh voice. "Has my wife bequeathed the custody of my daughter to this man?"

No one dared make so much as a peep. All eyes were on Berkeley and the moronic thug who ensured he was going to become another snack for Croc by pissing the boss off. Nobody was paying a lick of attention to Gordon as he lay sprawled on the damp concrete, not far from the edge of the bridge. The water churned just a few feet below him. Spray from the waterfall rose up to kiss his already chilled flesh. He cautiously lifted his head to make sure nobody was paying him any mind.

All eyes were on Berkeley.

 _This is it_ , he told himself sternly. _This is my one and only chance to get out of this situation alive_.

He rolled himself off the bridge, splashing into the water foaming below. Instantly, he sank beneath the surface. He tried to hold his breath, but the freezing temperatures had him gasping. Water gushed into his mouth and filled his nostrils, making him gag. The current caught a hold of him and slowly carried him away.

The guards, startled by his decision to feed himself to Croc, cursed and shouted. He could hear feet pounding on the concrete. The sound was muted by the gallons of water he was under. The riot officers opened fire. The weapons belched out bullets that slammed into the water, tore through flesh and bone, and stole what little of his wits he still had about him. Searing bolts of pain clenched him in a fiery grip that had him screaming into the swirling water.

 _No_ , Gordon thought desperately. _I can't give in... I can't leave my girls alone_.

His world went bright...

Went dark.


	6. Chapter 6

Raya burrowed deeper against the dark figure crouched behind her as she gazed at the mammoth gray walls and foreboding guard towers of Blackgate Penitentiary. This was where the bad guys got taken to serve out their sentences. _The Joker's here_ , she realized with a small shiver.

Batman shifted and folded her more tightly against him. Rayafound herself wishing he was her father. He had done more in one night for her than Matthew Berkeley had in eight years. He provided her with warmth and comfort and security. He rescued her, at his own peril, from the men who meant her harm.

Batman was the hero little girls thought their daddies were while Matthew Berkeley was the villain that good daddies taught them to fear.

She briefly debated telling Batman the truth about what her father had done to her mother.

She thought about it.

She really did.

Even as fear bubbled in her throat, burned in her heart, she considered telling him everything. She opened her mouth but a voice that sounded like her father's whispered about, " _the consequences of telling_."

Oh, yes, she knew the consequences of telling.

She knew them quite well, in fact.

Her father took her mother away because she told her uncle Jim what he was doing. Now he'd taken uncle Jim away, too. Batman was all she had left in the world. She wouldn't lose him.

She couldn't.

Her heart couldn't bear the loss of someone else she cared about.

Raya felt tears, pure helpless frustration, gather in her eyes. Not for the first time, and she knew it wouldn't be the last, she felt hatred for her father churn in her veins. Batman must have sensed her disquiet because he reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear.

"What's bothering you, imp?"

 _It'd be so easy,_ she realized, to rest her head against that broad chest and pour out her heart and soul. However, she knew what the consequences would be if she gave into that temptation. So, she said what she always did when someone asked her that particular question.

"Nothing's bothering me."

He made a sound, much like a low rumble, deep in his throat. "Something is troubling you. Can't you tell me what it is?"

"No." She shook her head, whimpered, "No, I can't."

"Why can't you tell me what it is?"

The words tripped off her tongue before she could stop them. "'Cause there are consequences for telling." She wanted to recall the words as soon as she uttered them. "Forget I said that!" She sent him an imploring look. "Please!"

As if he would simply do as she asked. This was Batman, not uncle Jim, after all. He wasn't going to treat her with kid gloves.

"Tell me who it is that you are afraid of and I will stop them. I promise."

Fat tears welled up and fell hotly down her ashen cheeks. "I... can't."

He gently thumbed away her tears. "Why not?"

"'Cause."

"'Cause why?"

Again the words spilled from her lips before she could stop them. "Because he'll just take you away from me, too."

"Who will take me away, Raya?" he asked in that velvety voice that always slid down to where the monsters inside her head hurled vicious words at her and shushed them. "Who do you fear will take me away if you tell me the truth?"

Raya tottered on a slippery slope. She knew the consequences of telling, knew she could lose him if she told him how it was her father who'd take him away if she told him anything. Her lower lip quivered and she bit down on it until she tasted the coppery sweetness of her own blood in her mouth.

Batman cupped her chin in fingers capable of delivering bone-crushing punishment to a handful of thugs without a moments notice. Yet they were soft as feather-down as they lifted her face up.

"Who is it? Tell me, please."

She buried her face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the faint smell of whatever aftershave he wore and finding comfort in it. Tears welled, fell like rain, and wet the column of his throat. His chest vibrated as he made a low murmur deep in his throat, and she felt his hand as it stroked down over the cap of her hair, along the taut line of her back. Every inch of it made the want and hurt all the more terrible.

"Who is he," he whispered into her hair. "Tell me and I will stop him."

"Matthew Berkeley Jr.," she finally said on one long, moist sigh. "My father."

…

A cave-in at the front of the tunnels completely cut him and two other officers off from the rest of the men who followed Captain Gordon down into the sewers. Ethan jumped back to avoid being crushed by falling debris, cursing both his late arrival, and the ones responsible for the tunnel entrance collapsing.

He had come here to talk with Gordon about Megan, but a bomb had gone off seconds before he could catch up with the Captain. He could hear the startled shouts and curses from the officers still trapped inside the tunnels. Musty, stale air blew across his face, made him choke. Realizing Gordon and the others were in deep, deep trouble, he pushed aside his own discomfort, and began clearing what rubble he could move.

"Come on!" he yelled to the other two officers. "We gotta get them outta there!" Neither man moved, seemingly content to stand there and watch as Ethan grunted and groaned while trying to move a boulder-sized piece of cement out of the way. "Come on!" he wheezed. "Give me a hand with this!"

One of the officers, a twenty year veteran named Maloni, merely snorted.

"There's no way we can clear all that debris between the three of us, Tate."

"We can't?" Tate barked at him. "Or you don't want too, Maloni?"

The officer shot him a dirty look, clearly annoyed by the insinuation lacing his tone. "Got something ya wanna say to me, kid?"

"Yeah," Tate replied hotly as he stood upright. "Yeah, I do."

The guy went nose-to-nose with him, eyes flashing in the shadows and meaty hands flexing at his sides. "And what is it that you wanna say? Huh?"

"Try remembering that you're a cop." His lips curled into a sneer. "And do something other than take bribes from Falcone for a change."

"Why, you little son of a bitch…"

"Oh, I'm a son of a bitch?" Ethan growled. "I'm not the asshole willing to leave fellow cops to die down in the sewers!"

The other officer, a ten-year veteran named Markinson stepped between them, snapping, "Enough!" He reached up to wipe dust and snow from his face. "Fighting ain't going to help us figure out how to get the others outta them damned tunnels."

"Telling ya that there ain't no way to get them out of that tunnel." Maloni shot a look that promised retribution at Ethan. "Not without the proper equipment and enough men to help with clearing the debris out."

"We gotta at least try!" Ethan snarled. "Damn it, Captain Gordon's down there!"

"And I'm telling you that there ain't no way to clear out that tunnel! Not without equipment and men to help us!"

Realizing that he wasn't going to get anywhere with Maloni, Ethan backed away, turned, and stalked over to his squad car. He kicked at a pile of snow and cursed when frozen sludge splattered across the front of his uniform. He couldn't believe Maroni was so corrupt that he'd leave ten good cops to die in the sewers.

Cave-in or no cave-in, they needed to do something to help. _Asshole_ , he seethed as he slapped a hand on the hood of his car. Didn't he realize how much danger Gordon and the others were in? There were miles of tunnels running beneath Gotham. Miles of tunnels and plenty of places where… Gordon and the others could escape from openings at any one of them.

 _All they need to do is pick the right one_...

He was already reaching for his door handle as an idea occurred to him.

...

Gordon's blood made foamy rosettes dance on the surface of the water. The current cleared them away as quickly as it bore Gordon's body out of sight. Berkeley gazed into the churning waters, his eyes pensive, and his mood sour.

"He's dead," that fool, Rizo stated in a voiced tinged by relief. "No way Gordon survived that. Even if he did," the man paused, considered. "Well, Croc'll finish him off."

Berkeley studied the man silently as he tucked the custody papers into the inside pocket of his evening coat. He wanted to forget about the existence of the papers, but that was an almost impossible task considering the humiliation they'd cost him if they ever became public knowledge.

He'd be a laughingstock if any of his clients discovered his wife gave immediate custody of his daughter to her brother-in-law. Just who did they think they were? Did they not realize that the little brat belonged to him?

That she was his to do with as he wished?

He really hadn't thought Ellen brave enough to take his daughter away from him. She knew the consequences of defiance. He made them perfectly clear on their wedding night. _I'll make Gordon pay for this humiliation as I made her pay_ , he vowed as his lips peeled back in a snarl.

For now, he'd deal with his current problem.

"You say Gordon has to be dead." His words came out a lethal purr. "And yet you have no physical proof to support your claim. Tell me why I should believe you."

"Th-there's no way to pro-prove that he's de-dead."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"The wa-water… it flows out to any number of outflows. We'd nev-never be able to fi-find which one Gordon's bo-body went down."

Berkeley turned to the guard on his left. Davidson had entered his employ a year before he married his feckless Ellen. He was his inside man at the GCPD. He told him when Gordon and his rat squad were about to raid his safe houses. He also made the arrests of others in his employ disappear. Davidson had solved many problems for him over the years. He had proven himself a loyal and trusted ally. That was why he asked him one question.

"What do you think that Rizo should do?"

Davidson's lips curled into a sneer behind the visor of his helmet. "I say he should follow Gordon's body to wherever it may end up and make sure that he is, indeed, as dead as he thinks he is."

Berkeley nodded. It was exactly what he was thinking, as well.

"Give me your GPS."

Davidson handed it to him without question, and Berkeley dropped it into Rizo's pants pocket. He patted the unit to make sure it was secure. Then he smiled at Rizo.

"Follow him," he said. "And make sure he's dead."

"Fo-follow him?" the man squawked. "H-how do y-you want me to follow him?"

Berkeley picked up Gordon's service revolver from where Davidson had set it on a crate and shot the man between the eyes. His body dropped to the floor with only the barest sound.

The other guard, a man named Smith, kicked Rizo off the bridge and watched as it topped into the water. The current took possession of the body and carried it off in the same direction it had carried Gordon's just moments before. Berkeley turned towards Smith.

"Follow him," he commanded. "Make sure Gordon is dead."

He didn't have to clarify what he meant. Smith understood what he was telling him to do. Smith nodded and immediately left to carry out his orders. Berkeley reached into his jacket for a cigar while silently contemplating his next course of action. His fingers brushed against Gordon's papers. _Ah, yes, what to do about these_. He contemplated how he could salvage this mess as he drew out a Black Dragon.

His whore-bitch wife was dead, and Gordon, if he wasn't already, soon would be. Having his daughter die under mysterious circumstances at the same time as her uncle and mother would cast more suspicion on him. To throw off the remaining bloodhounds in Gordon's command he'd have to pretend he was the grieving husband. _And that means the little brat will have to live for a little while longer_.

"It would seem my plans for my daughter have changed." He looked at Davidson. "I am going to need to keep her around for a little while longer."

"Oh, yeah?" Davidson asked. "And why's that?"

"I need her to perfect my image of the grieving husband."

"Branson ain't gonna like this any." He glanced at Berkeley. "He wants the brat for himself."

Berkeley could well imagine what he wanted his daughter for.

"I want you to go and take care of Branson. His… _perversions_ have become a liability to our organization."

"What about his men? You want me to take care of them as well?"

"Yes." A smile spread over his face. It was one Ellen would have recognized were she there. One she would have feared. "Yes, I do."

Davidson wasn't Ellen Rae-Kean Berkeley. He didn't fear him. He merely grunted and said, "As you wish."


	7. Chapter 7

Alfred understood why his employer became so emotionally invested in the girl the moment he got a look at her sweet face. The same things burning in her eyes were in the eyes of a nine-year-old boy after the death of his parents ripped his world apart.

The night of Thomas and Martha Wayne's murdered remained the single most terrible night of Alfred's life. Grief still clutched him by the throat when he thought of Bruce's parents. There was one moment inside all that darkness he clung to, though. A moment he recalled as he watched his young employer walk beside the girl.

_The young detective, dressed in a rumpled pair of navy trousers, a matching vest and a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, knelt in front of the little boy sitting alone in the police station. He wrapped a faded tan overcoat around the boy's trembling shoulders, and tried to offer what little comfort he could._

_"Is there anything I can get you, son?" He spoke quietly, gently. "A soda or something?"_

_Silence greeted his offer._

_"I know this is difficult," the detective said. "And that you aren't feeling like talking at the moment, but I need to ask you a few questions about what happened tonight. It's the only way that we'll find the man who did this to your folks."_

_The boy let out a shuddering breath and lifted ravaged eyes to the detective's kindly compassionate ones._

_"Wh-why'd he do it, detective?" the boy asked quietly. "Why?"_

_The detective heaved a world-weary sigh and set his hands on the boys stooped shoulders. "I dunno why he did it," he admitted, a wealth of regret in his voice, on his face. It got replaced by a momentary surge of weary anger. "It's this city," he muttered. "There's something wrong with it. And listen, son, just call me Jim."_

Wasn't it ironic how the small boy comforted by a young detective was the young man comforting a member of that detective's own family?

 _Do you even realize that you are not only tied with Captain Gordon because of your own tragedy_ , he found himself wondering, _but through his niece's now, as well?_

He very much doubted his employer had taken the time to see how intertwined his and the girl's lives had become. Master Bruce's only concern when he took the girl from the rooftop of the GCPD was to see she didn't end up harmed by the filth wearing badges.

"But I want to go with you." The young misses eyes were wide and fearful inside her pale face. "Please," she begged. "Can't I go with you? I won't get in the way, I promise!"

Batman crouched so he was eye-level with the girl.

"You can't go with me to Blackgate." His voice was soft but firm. Quite unlike the normal rasp his employer used for his alter-ego. Alfred's eyebrows raised but he refrained from commenting. "It's much too dangerous a place for a little girl like you."

"But I'm not afraid..."

"The answer is no and that's final."

Alfred chose to intervene when he saw the young miss's expression become set in that same mutinous way Master Bruce's did when he had taken hold of a notion and refused to let it go.

"Batman has a much more important job for you, Miss Raya," he told her in a conspiratorial tone. "Something that only you can do for him."

"He has an important job for me?" There was a veiled note of interest intermingled with suspicion in her voice, on her face. "What is it he wants me to do?"

She was so much like his employer. Clever, cynical, completely shaped by whatever traumatic events she endured. _Heaven help us if she grows up and decides to put on a mask and prowl around Gotham with Batman_. It would serve his employer right, though. _Master Bruce would finally learn what it has been like dealing with him for all these years_. It was almost worth considering just so his employer could get a taste of his own medicine.

 _Almost_.

"He wants you to help me take care of Mr. Wayne."

Her lips pursed. "What happened to Mr. Wayne?"

"He took a rather serious fall in the gardens, I'm afraid." Alfred glanced at the dark figure standing nearby. Master Bruce didn't smile but Alfred swore he saw a trickle of amusement in those eyes that always reminded him of Thomas Wayne. "He wasn't paying attention and slipped on some ice."

"What can I do to help Mr. Wayne feel better?"

"I'm thinking he would love if you read 'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland' to him."

Her eyebrows lifted. "He'd want _me_ to read to _him_?"

"I think he'd like it very much if you'd read to him." Batman reached out and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "Will you do it? For me?"

She mulled the request over for a moment before she nodded.

"Yes." Her face was as solemn as her tone. "I will do it for you."

Batman stood and escorted her to the car. Before Raya climbed into the backseat, she turned and wrapped her arms around his waist. Despite his every intention, Alfred felt tears well as he watched his employer reach up to run a gloved hand over those glossy curls.

"Merry Christmas, Batman," she whispered before she climbed into the backseat.

"Merry Christmas," he said quietly as he shut the door. Then he looked at Alfred and told him in a voice like tempered steel, "Get her back to the Manor."

"Of course, sir."

"And Alfred?"

"Yes?"

"Nobody but you, me and Gordon are allowed anywhere near her. Is that understood?"

Alfred inclined his head. "Perfectly, sir."

He was gone before Alfred even finished his sentence.

...

At a quarter past two, Branson and Jessup met. A friend had taken pity on Jessup and called to warn him about Berkeley having ordered Davidson to get rid of them. In a panic, he called Rolonov and Branson and demanded that they meet. Branson had agreed and told him when and where to meet. It was clear as the nose on his face about why Berkeley decided to end his association with them.

They were found out. That, in Jessup's opinion, could only mean one of three things: either Gordon got away and blew the whistle to Batman, Batman had discovered their plans or someone else ratted them out.

Of the three scenarios, Jessup feared number one the most. Gordon and Batman working together as a team had long been what he and the rest of Gotham's seedier element had feared. The two made a fearsome pair what with Batman's dogged determination and Gordon's relentlessness.

"Are you sure that Berkeley knows nothing about this place?" Jessup's eyes darted around the empty warehouse nervously. "The man's no fool. And," he added in a hurried whisper, "he has spies everywhere." He shot a fearful look behind him, fully expecting something to happen at any moment. "H-he could well b-be watching us from somewhere clo-close by and just wai-waiting to order Dav-vidson to put a bull-bullet in us."

"Calm yourself," Branson ordered in a disgusted tone. "Neither Davidson nor Berkeley have any knowledge about this warehouse. I guarantee it."

"I wouldn't be so cocksure of myself, Bra-Branson!"

Jessup didn't care if his nervousness bounced on the nerves of his companion. He felt justified in his fear. Berkeley was cleaning house. Getting rid of all loose ends. They were the biggest loose ends he had. The look Branson gave him warned him to tread lightly. The way he saw it? He was dead no matter what. Either Branson was gonna kill him for being a coward or Berkeley for being a liability. He figured he'd die faster, and cleaner, at Branson's hands than Davidson's.

"And I wouldn't be making any more pro-promises for that ma-matter! Not when everything you have promised hasn't happened!"

"What are you saying here, Jessup?" Branson demanded in a hard voice. "That I'm a liar?"

"I'm saying you've been wrong about everything!"

"Excuse me?" Branson's eyes narrowed into thin, dangerous slits. "You want to repeat that?"

"Yo-you heard me! You've been wrong about Berkeley, Gordon, and most especially about Batman!"

"Batman has nothing to do with this!"

"Rolonov was right." Jessup pointed an accusatory finger at him. "This is your fault!"

"How is it my fault?"

"You couldn't keep your disgusting perversions in check!"

"Wh-"

"I-if you woulda left Gordon's brat alone..."

"This is not about..."

"Everything started going wrong as soon as Berkeley told you to get rid of the little brat!" Jessup stabbed his finger in Branson's face. "You became fixated on the girl and lost sight of everything else."

Branson slapped his finger away. "You're exaggerating."

"Everything we've worked for is falling to shit because of you!"

"I'm telling you..."

"No, I'm telling you." Jessup ignored Branson's curses. Right was right in his mind. And he was right. "We ain't gonna be rich. We ain't gonna be Gods among men. We ain't gonna be anything but worm food! And that," he declared in a near hysterical shriek, "is because _you_ couldn't keep your hands to your damn self!"

"Not everything is my fault," Branson growled. "You forget how it was Rolonov..."

"You knew the dangers of working with a man who has the reputation Matthew Berkeley has!"

"He's no different from Falcone or Maroni."

"They have some honor! Berkeley is willing to kill his own kid to get ahead!"

Branson waved a hand dismissively in the air. "Berkeley is merely making threats to remind us that he's the one in charge."

"Berkeley is not making threats here, Branson." Jessup couldn't believe that Branson was this arrogant. This foolish. "He's dispatched Davidson to carry out his orders."

"And where did you hear this from?"

"Someone who heard him give Davidson the orders."

"I'm telling you that he's just making threats." Branson sniffed when Jessup barked a laugh. "I will speak with Berkeley. Assure him that everything is under control. That we will have the girl soon."

"Wake up and smell the coffee!" Jessup slapped a hand on a table. The sound reverberated through the warehouse. Like a gunshot. "The man doesn't want any more excuses!"

"Jessup..."

"Berkeley's getting rid of everybody who can tie him to this disaster!"

"So what if he is?"

That Branson wasn't concerned with the fact that Berkeley had set the loose cannon, Davidson on them only verified to Jessup about how unstable the man was.

"It's over, Branson," he said. "We have no hope of surviving. Not with Davidson after us. He won't stop until he puts you, me, and Rolonov in the ground."

"Davidson won't find us," Branson stated with more confidence than Jessup thought wise. "He doesn't know about this location and won't put in the effort to find us."

"We can't stay here forever."

"No, we can't," Branson agreed. "That's why we will use the money we have managed to make off our association with Berkeley and leave Gotham."

"And then?"

"And then we will rebuild our operation."

Jessup's lip curled into a sneer. "The good doctor isn't going to wait around for us to recoup our losses."

"I have spoken with the doctor already."

"And?"

"And if we can procure the notes on a formula he calls _Inceptive_ , he will fund the other half of our operation, himself."

Jessup shook his head. Branson was a fool. _And I'm an even bigger one for getting involved with him._

"You honestly think a man like Matthew Berkeley Jr. is going to allow us to fade off into the sunset without sending his bloodhounds to hunt us down? Get real, man!"

"He may send out his bloodhounds," Branson said with a shrug. "But if we burrow deep eno-"

Whatever else he might have been about to say came out as a gurgle. Jessup let out a high-pitched shriek at the big black hole that appeared in the middle of Branson's forehead. He spun, made to run, but another shot ripped through the night, slamming into his chest.

He was dead before his screams even stopped echoing throughout the warehouse.


	8. Chapter 8

The nuclear plant somehow looked even uglier than it had a few hours ago. Ethan pulled up at the gate and flashed a grim smile at the puzzled security guard.

"You forget something, Officer Tate?"

"No." He waved towards the concrete troughs in the distance. "I just have a feeling that my Captain might wash up in the same basin that the woman earlier did."

"Your Captain?" The guard scratched his nose. "Now, why's he gonna wash up in the same basin as that girl?"

"There was a collapse at the sewer entrance over by the Steel Mill," Tate patiently explained. "It trapped a handful of officers in the tunnels below the city. I think my Captain will follow the tunnels to the first exit that he can find. And that is here at the basin."

The guard studied him for a moment but obliged him by letting him through. Ethan drove on, thankful for the silence, and the time alone. Renaldo was back at the GCPD, filling out all the required paperwork and handling all those messy details that Tate wasn't interested in. Going with his gut, he parked his patrol car, and sprinted over to the basin.

It was a long shot, he knew it was. He had to take the chance that his hunch was right. Taking a proactive approach to finding the trapped officers was definitely better than standing around with his junk in his hand. He dreaded the possibility that he'd end up being wrong, that he'd either find Gordon's body in the same condition as Megan's or not find him at all.

No, he had to believe that he'd find Gordon and the others alive.

They'd make it out of the tunnels.

The city, as well as their families, needed them.

A sliver of moonlight speckled the water that flowed beneath the metal grate. Bracing himself for whatever he might find, Ethan slowly approached the basin. He thought he spotted something pale poking up briefly through the metal grille before being covered up by a mountain of icy sludge. Something silver glinted as the thin beam of his flashlight caressed it.

 _Is that a watch_?

He ran forward and thrust his hand down into the basin, cursing as the frigid waters made his fingers go numb. He groped around frantically, his heart slamming against his ribcage.

His fingers bumped against what felt like a hand. _Yes!_ _I found someone_!

But... who is it?

There were ten officers, plus Gordon, who could have washed up here. Until he got them out, he had no idea who it was he found. Or if more were with them. Grunting and straining with the effort, he tugged, and pulled the man up through the opening in the grate. Soon as his head and shoulders were free, he hauled the man out onto the concrete.

He knew it was Gordon as soon as he saw the shock of russet-colored hair plastered to his head and face. The Captain's breathing was ragged, his face ash gray, and his flesh like ice. He looked like he was only barely clinging to life. Gordon's glasses were missing and there were small scratches on his hands and face that said his journey here had been long and hard.

His heart stopped when he saw the cherry swirls forming in the puddle beneath the Captain's body. He couldn't tell where exactly Gordon had been shot, but it had been more than once by his guess. Instantly, he radioed for help.

"10-13, 10-13," he spoke into his shoulder radio. "I have an officer down. Requesting help and a bus at the nuclear plant." He paused to take a breath. "I repeat, I have an officer down. Requesting help and a bus at the nuclear plant."

It took him a moment before he realized that Gordon had woke up and was speaking.

"Raya," he croaked, almost too softly for Ethan to make out. "Berkeley. Needs a guardian. Find Batman..." He broke off as a coughing fit seized control. Then he wheezed, "Berkeley. Find Batman..."

Ethan leaned in close, trying to make out what it was that the critically injured man was babbling about. "Captain?"

"Berkeley. Find Batman," Gordon whispered again. "Needs a guardian. Ask him..." His fingers curled into Ethan's top. Made him think of the talons of a bird. "Ask him. Ask him to be her guardian."

Ethan found himself torn between fear and confusion. Gordon wanted him to find... _Batman_? And wanted him to ask the man to become the guardian of his niece, Raya?

 _What the hell's going on here_?

For a moment, just one, Ethan had the feeling he really didn't want to find out the answer to that question.

...

"Do you think I will see Batman again, Mr. Pennyworth?"

The butler glanced at her in the rearview mirror.

"You will see him again," he assured her with a gentle smile. "When you least expect it, you will see him again."

Rays nodded, satisfied by the answer, and settled back in her seat. They left the city a few minutes later and proceeded along a country lane that was more than passingly familiar to her. Elm trees were covered in lights that twinkled merrily. Many of them had a thick blanket of snow weighing down their bony branches. Every half mile or so, they drove past a cluster of buildings that included a big house.

Her family estate was in the north end of Gotham's Bristol District, an extravagant structure of white brick builtalong the same Gothic architectural style as Wayne Manor. A mammoth sized wrought-iron fence topped with razor-sharp spear points surrounded the property. Beyond stretched miles of neatly tended green lawn and majestic oak trees which dated back to this part of the country's early colonization.

She swallowed the bile that surged into her throat when she spied the familiar white spires stabbing at the sky.

Then the butler was turning down the road that led to Wayne Manor. He slowed as he pulled up to the gates. Almost magically, they swung open. The butler drove past the guesthouse and up a curved driveway to the mansion. Wayne Manor looked like a golden palace, alight as it was by the thousand tiny lights draped across its roof, wrapped around its stately columns, and strung from every limb of every tree that surrounded the property.

Every light was on inside the huge fortress and cast dancing shadows on the pristine snow covering the driveway. It was a whimsical, fantastical illusion that belied the ever-present shroud Raya internally sensed hung over the house. She stepped from the car after Alfred opened the door and stood staring up at the huge manor in stupefied awe.

"Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss Raya."

...

Batman had his answer about who let Croc out of his cell before he even made it inside Blackgate. The warden, Victor Zehrhard was waiting for him by a large hole blown into the back wall of the exercise yard. One look at the aging, bald man told him the situation inside Blackgate was as grim.

"Had a feeling we'd be seeing you," Zehrhard said as soon as he spotted him. "Figured you get word from Gordon about what happened and come to investigate."

He hadn't but he didn't tell the warden that. The man might be one of the few straightforward and decent men in the justice system but it didn't mean he could be completely trusted.

"Who let him out?"

"A woman by the name of Megan Madson."

"Madson?" He recalled having heard that name somewhere. "Was she a criminal?"

"No." Zehrhard shook his head. "She was an officer in the Major Crimes Unit."

He already suspected that whoever let Croc out had worked in Gordon's division. However, it didn't make sense. None of the events of that night made sense.

"Why would she free Crocfrom his cell?" He waited a second before asking the second question tumbling around inside his head. "What was the connection between them?"

"My guess?" Zehrhardgrunted. "She was either bought off or threatened by whoever Croc'sworking for."

The possibility of either wasn't all that shocking to him. Gordon got put in charge of a division that was nothing but a bunch of dirty cops. He believed he could change them, bring honor back to the badge, and to the GCPDby turning the corrupt ones in. What he ended up doing was creating a firestorm. One that might have ended up costing him his life.

No, he couldn't think like that.

Gordon was alive and he'd find him.

Just as he promised Rayahe would.

"How long ago did Gordon leave?"

"About an hour or so."

"Where was he heading?"

"Followed Croc down into the sewers." Zehrhard's sigh left small particles of steam hanging in the air. "Warned him it was too dangerous and that he should wait for you. Can't trust that animal. Probably killed Madson and dozens of others by now."

"I'm going to find Gordon and help him stop Croc," he told Zehrhard as he turned. "Will his cell be ready when we bring him back?"

"We'll make sure of it."

...

Ethan had been pacing the roof of police headquarters for about twenty minutes when he spied the piece of paper plastered to the front of the searchlight. Realizing it for what it was, he reached over and flipped the spotlight on. A beam shot into the sky and smacked the night out of its way to stamp a symbol on the smooth velvet curtain that was easily recognizable. Silently, he thanked whoever the genius was for creating that bat-shaped signal.

Ten minutes later he realized he was no longer on that rooftop alone. He slowly turned to look at the cowled man standing there with his cape fluttering behind him in the gentle breeze blowing off the bay. Batman was watching him with eyes that were burning, blistering blue. Ethan was half surprised his clothes didn't begin to smolder from the heat in that glare.

"So..." he said slowly. "You are real."

"Why have you called me here?" Batman's voice was low, dark, and menacing. It reminded Ethan of the purr of a jungle cat right before it attacked. "What do you want?"

Ethan decided to get right to the point.

"Captain Gordon has been shot."

Batman visibly stiffened. "What..."

"He was looking for Killer Croc in the sewers when he was caught in an explosion and shot." Ethan ran a hand over his face. "When I pulled him out at the nuclear plant, he was near death, and babbling something about finding you."

Batman maintained a neutral expression.

"Why?" he asked. "Why did Gordon ask you to find me?"

"I don't really know the answer to that," Ethan admitted with a small grimace. "All he kept saying was that he wanted me to find you because his niece needs a guardian and that I am to ask you to be that guardian."

"No." Batman shook his head. "The answer is no."

"No?" Ethan couldn't believe he heard the man correctly. "You said no?"

"I'm not capable of being his niece's guardian," Batman said. "I'm sorry."

Ethan felt a burst of frustration rise up to choke him. "Look, Gordon needs your help."

"I'm sorry," he repeated, firmer this time. "The answer is no."

"Someone needs to protect his niece from whomever it is that put him in the hospital. If not you, then who? Because Bullock isn't an option, and neither is Gordon's ex-wife. She's all the way in Cleveland. You're who he trusts."

 _There_ , he thought. _I said it_.

Now it was up to Batman to decide whether he was going to help or not. He didn't have to wait long for an answer.

"What hospital is Gordon in?"

Ethan released the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

"He's in Gotham General." He turned towards the spotlight. "Listen, I know that you don't have much faith in those who work for the GCPD, and after tonight, you really don't have much reason to believe in us. But we're not all corrupt. Some of us actually believe in the vow we took about serving and protecting the citizens of this city. We believe in the same things you do and are fighting for the same things you are. We want to clean up Gotham and we want to stop guys like the Joker and the Penguin from destroying the city."

Ethan found he was talking to himself when he turned around. Batman was gone, and he suspected had been for some minutes.

"Huh," he said with a tinge of awe. "He really does vanish like Gordon said."


	9. Chapter 9

Nikolai Rolonov had been to Wayne Manor once before. It was his first night on the job and there had been a disturbance on the property that he, and his then partner, an old war dog named Bryant had responded to. As he stepped out of his cruiser, he stared up at the mammoth house, eyes blinking wide at the sight laid out before him.

The Manor's stone walls and towers made it look more like a castle than a stately mansion in Gotham's illustrious Bristol District. Dozens of high lancet windows and stone spires added to the grandeur. Twinkling lights wrapped around elegant marble columns and threaded along the parapet that circled the roof. All that was needed was a dragon guarding the prince in the corner tower for the fairytale image to become complete.

It was hard to believe that this house was home for just one guy. Even if that guy was the disgustingly wealthy Bruce Wayne. The entire criminal population of Blackgate could be moved into this place, and there'd still be plenty of room for the dozens of guards and staff.

A gentleman with salt and pepper hair and warm brown eyes greeted him after he knocked on the door. Rolonov recognized him instantly as Wayne's butler, Alfred Pennyworth. The man had been a servant for the family since before Wayne was born.

"May I help you with something, Detective?"

"Yes, I was told Captain Gordon's niece will be staying here while he's recuperating from his injuries." He paused to study the older man's reaction, but the butler's expression didn't waver.

"Well, something has happened and I've come to take Miss Berkeley to the hospital."

One dark brow lifted. It was the only outward change in the man's physical appearance.

"And may I ask what has happened that would necessitate waking the young miss from a sound sleep to drag her to the hospital?"

"There have been complications and Captain Gordon's doctors are not sure he is going to survive the rest of the night. They said that if he has any family close that they should come now to say their goodbyes."

It was all a lie, of course. Rolonov had never been to the hospital, he didn't know Gordon's physical condition nor had he talked with the bastard about the little brat. How he knew the girl had been brought here to Wayne Manor was because one of his men saw Batman put her into Wayne's fancy car on the traffic cams. It wasn't a huge leap from there to figure out just where they were taking the brat too.

"I'm sorry," Alfred said kindly. "Miss Berkeley was left in the care of Master Wayne. You would need to get his permission before I can allow you to take her with you."

Rolonov swallowed back the vitriolic curse that sprang to his lips at the implication inside the older man's words. "And I take it that Wayne's unable to come and give me his permission to take the girl to the hospital."

Alfred's smile was thin as a blade. "That would be correct, sir."

"Well." Rolonov tried his damnedest to keep his annoyance from seeping into his voice but failed. "What if I go get a warrant to search the premises?"

"On what charges?"

"The kidnapping and endangerment of a minor." Rolonov let a smile curve his lips. "I'm sure GCPS and a judge will question why Captain Gordon asked Mister Wayne to take care of his niece when her own father is more than capable of doing so."

Rolonov figured the man would cave and turn the girl over to him to spare Wayne the humiliation. The butler surprised him when he drew himself fully erect and sniffed, once, disdainfully.

"Return with your warrant and Gotham Child Protective Services if you think it necessary, Detective. But you will not be taking the girl with you."

And then he promptly shut the door in Rolonov's stunned face.

...

Alfred turned after he closed the door and found Raya watching from the stairs. The twitch of the tiny hand gripping the gleaming railing was the only outward sign of her anxious state. She was more than passingly familiar with the detective, of that he was certain. The question, though, was how had she become so familiar with the man? _And just how deep does the familiarity go_?

"You are familiar with the man who was here, Miss Raya?" he phrased the question gently. "This, Detective Rolonov?"

The man's name caused her face to lose what little color it had.

"He is one of the men under Uncle Jim's command," she mumbled. "He partners with Detective Brady."

Long before he entered the service of Thomas Wayne, Alfred worked for British Intelligence. His skills at garnering information still came in handy. Most especially when Master Bruce needed someone to find out what was going on. For that reason, he decided to switch tactics. Master Bruce needed to know what exactly he had gotten himself involved in.

"Why were you staying with Captain Gordon for the holidays?"

The question caught the girl off guard. For a moment, the mask, the same one Master Bruce cultivated for his own social image, slipped. Grief as fresh as the snow lining the driveway haunted her eyes.

He had seen the same on Master Bruce's face the night his mother and father were murdered.

 _Oh, my dear child_ , Alfred thought as the truth hammered home. He took a step towards the stairs, but Miss Raya turned and quickly headed for what was her favorite room: the library. He followed and found her settled on a window bench with a book she selected.

"I thought to make a cup of hot tea."

She continued staring at the book she held.

"Yes, well," he said, turning. "I shall leave you to your thoughts."

"It's my fault, Mr. Pennyworth." Alfred didn't think he heard her correctly. "She's dead because of me."

"Who is dead, Miss?"

"Mama." The hollow-eyes that lifted to his burned a hole in his heart. "Mama's dead. And it's my fault."

It wasn't often something caught Alfred by surprise. Truth be told, there wasn't much that could rattle him. He had seen, heard and done more in his lifetime than most people twice his age. However, this was one of those times where shock reached out and took hold of him.

"How do you..."

"I was there. I saw it." She looked away. "I watched her die."

"Miss..."

"She's dead, Mr. Pennyworth," she repeated, her voice hitching on a sob. "And it's all my fault."

Alfred hurried across the room and knelt in front of her. "Oh, no, Miss! It wasn't your fault..."

"It is!" she insisted. "I made Mama tell Uncle Jim about the abuse! I made her tell him that I wanted to live with him! I made her sign the custody papers after telling the judge I didn't wanna be their daughter anymore!" The words came faster and faster now that the dam had broken, almost tripping over themselves as they came pouring out of her mouth. "Now, she's dead and it's all my fault!"

"Hush, child." Alfred took both of her hands in his. "What happened wasn't your fault..."

"If I hadn't made her tell-"

"No, Miss Raya," he said gently but firmly. "The fault for what happened to your mother is on the man respon..."

"My father is responsible." Her bitterness stung the air. "He killed her. He killed her 'cause I didn't remember his rule about telling having consequences."

Alfred felt sick to his stomach. "No..."

"My mother is dead," she stated in a wet whisper, "and it's all my fault."

"No, Miss Raya." He drew the shivering child into his arms. Much as he had another child when he was her age. "This is not your fault. This will never be your fault."

 _No more than the deaths of Thomas and Martha Wayne will ever be Master Bruce's fault_.

Raya's head tipped against his shoulder. "I hate him, Mr. Pennyworth. I hate him so much."

Alfred rubbed her back in slow, soothing circles. "I know you do, Miss Raya."

 _He hates the man who killed his parents, too_.

...

Matthew Berkeley wandered through the palatial grounds of his grand estate an hour before dawn would to start changing the sky from onyx to twilight. Restless, frustrated, he crossed the huge, wide foyer that was nothing but marble, dark wood, and the cold, cold sparkle of crystal and chrome.

Every one of the holiday decorations he passed on his way up the stairs had been hand selected, either by a personal decorator or by his whore-bitch of a wife. He found the majority of the decor tasteless, sterile and boring. He was a man of refined tastes. He knew precisely what he liked, and exactly what he wanted. He also knew how precisely to go about obtaining those things that he desired. No matter what the cost, no matter the effort it required him to exert, he obtained whatever it was he wanted.

And what he wanted most at that moment was for word to reach him about Gordon's demise.

 _How long does it take to find one body_? Matthew fumed as he walked across the second-floor landing towards his suite of rooms in the mansions east wing. The moment he stepped through the Estate's huge oak front door, he found himself assaulted by a wealth of sensory information and dark images.

He saw Ellen as he left her, bleeding and broken at the bottom of the grand staircase. Roses, red as the blood that pooled beneath her body, spread out around her like angel wings.

Everywhere Matthew looked he saw something that he knew belonged to his feckless Ellen: a book of sonnets on the table in the front entry hall, the vase of roses he bought her a few days ago, the portrait they bought on their last trip to Paris.

Her smell was everywhere, and the scent was both intoxicating and infuriating.

Matthew could hear Ellen whispering to him from the shadows, begging him to release her from this castle that he was the King of.

Oh, he wouldn't let her go, of course.

He'd never set her free.

Ellen belonged to _him_.

Legally, morally, and eternally now.

She promised him her love, loyalty, and her life. In return, Matthew gave her the moon, brought her to live in his palace and made her his Queen. Love had turned to fury, a raging flood of anger which he nurtured with acrimonious hatred.

Ellen betrayed him, denied him the one thing he wanted the most: a son to carry on the Berkeley name.

She owed him for failing to do her duty. For eight years he made Ellen pay for her inability to fulfill her promise to him. Matthew believed she learned her lesson. She did everything she could to please him.

Then she started talking back to him, demanding he allow her to take his daughter and move to their estate in England.

When he refused that, she sent the brat to live with Gordon. It was his daughter who encouraged Ellen to tell Gordon about his partnership with Roman Sionis. His daughter convinced his wife to show Gordon where the shipment of guns had been hidden. She got Ellen to reveal who they planned to sell the guns, too.

That, he decided, had been the final straw.

He had to teach his daughter a lesson about consequences.

And so he had.

A slow smile creased his lips as he paused in front of a framed picture set on a small table outside the entrance of the library. Long, elegant fingers reached out to stroke the face gracing the photograph. _You have learned your lesson about telling, haven't you_ , _princess_? he said to the girl staring back at him with Ellen's eyes. _You have learned about what the consequences are for not doing as I have instructed_.

Heavy footsteps crossing the front foyer drew Berkeley's attention. He moved back to the railing and watched as a man dressed in charcoal trousers and a white button down, unbuttoned at the throat, came strolling into view. Detective Rolonov almost looked like one of Gotham's society playboys coming home from a late evening at his club.

He was darkly handsome with piercing eyes the color of fog, golden tanned skin, and a slow, pleasant smile. Yet, this man was far from being one of the entitled who ruled Gotham high society. _Oh no_ , Berkeley thought with a small smirk. _The good detective here was most definitely not a member of high society._

"Have you brought me word that Gordon's body has been found?"

Rolonov glanced up. "Captain Gordon is alive, though, in critical condition."

Anger surged, but was quickly banked.

"So," he said slowly. "Gordon not only managed to survive being shot multiple times, but he survived his journey through the sewers as well."

"That is what it looks like," Rolonov said with a nod. "Yes."

"And my daughter?" he drawled. "You were also instructed to bring her to me."

"Your daughter is staying with Bruce Wayne."

"Is she now? Well, that's very interesting." He stared off into the distance, thinking. Then he rumbled, "That's very, very interesting, indeed."

Rolonov placed a hand on the mahogany railing.

"So, is this enough to take the bounty off my head?"

"I am well pleased," he said in a simpering tone. "But as far as this being enough to take the bounty off your head?" He shook his head. "Not at all."

"Who else do I gotta kill to get this bulls-eye off from my back?"

"When you have killed Gordon." Berkeley's eyes glinted with dark humor and his full mouth twitched. "Then and only then is when the bounty on your head will come off. Now," he said as he turned. "Get out."


	10. Chapter 10

Gordon floated in that gray world that existed between being awake and being asleep. He knew the combination of the searing pain attacking every inch of his body and the drugs being pumped into his horribly grateful system were causing him to hallucinate. Hell, it wasn't like he overly cared that he was hallucinating. This particular vision he was having was one of his most favorite ones because of how hard-earned the trust involved was. He allowed himself to drift into the land of dreams again with a small, contented sigh.

…

The cool silence of his house was a comfort after the nightmare of the evening. Crime never slept. Especially in a city like Gotham. Being a criminal was the most profitable job to have in this city. It was a familiar he long had become accustomed to. He embraced it with every fiber of his being. He accepted it not because there wasn't any other damn choice but because he still believed he _could_ make a difference.

That night, however, Firefly had decided to trap a bridge full of people to lure out Batman. It took a joint effort from the Dark Knight and a battalion of his best officers to stop the pyrotechnic lunatic before any more innocent Gothamites got hurt.

Even with all the cops standing firm against him, it still took several hours before Garfield Lynns was finally subdued, and several more before he got taken to the precinct for processing. The first hints of dawn were just turning the twilight sky crimson when he opened his front door.

The first thing he did - that he always did when he got home - was go and check on his children. His children were, after all, his reminder about why he remained a police officer despite his ever-growing disgust with the corruption infecting the department like a disease.

His children were his reason for getting up every day. They were why he put on his suit and tie, for sticking his badge in his pocket, his gun in its holster. His kids were the determination in his step as he walked out his front door to face whatever it was that the city, and her new breed of criminals, was gonna toss at him. They were the fire in his eye and the song in his heart. His kids were why he'd continue doing what he did until he was either too old or too dead to still be doing it.

His kids were also why he tentatively chose to work alongside a costumed vigilante that most of the city ofGotham considered no better than the filth he helped bring to justice. Batman had become an ally despite Gordon's better judgment.

None of that mattered to Gordon at that moment, though.

No, the only thing that mattered to him right then was checking on his kids. Morning, afternoon or night, his routine remained the same. It would always stay the same. He'd unlock the door, step inside, drop off his coat, and go down the hall to check on his kids. His kids were his coping mechanism, his way of handling the stress of his job and all of its regular demands.

Nobody at the station knew that this was how he dealt with the nightly traumas, the daily horrors, the senseless bloodshed and violence.

Not even his longtime partner and friend, Harvey Bullock knew about his routine.

Not that the man wouldn't have understood had he known.

Gordon glanced into his bedroom on his way down the hall and could barely make out the top of his wife's head poking out from the top of the covers. His lips curved before he turned to glance into his son, James Jr.'s room. His son had made a cave out of his blankets and was snoring blissfully from somewhere in the middle of his cottony fortress.

Finally, he turned to walk into his daughter, Barbara's bedroom. He was just finishing tucking her in, when his eight-year-old niece, who he thought was sleeping, spoke from the other bed.

"Did Batman help you save Gotham tonight, Uncle Jim?"

"Actually, pumpkin." He turned to her with a small smile. "I helped _him_ save Gotham tonight."

"You did?"

The awe in her voice amused him. "I did, yes." He settled on the bed beside her. "I helped him stop the Firefly from hurting a lot of innocent people."

"Really?" she breathed out, eyes big green saucers inside her pixie face. "How'd you and Batman stop him, Uncle Jim?" She curled against him, cradling her head on his stomach. "Did you shoot him? Or did Batman use one of his gadgets to stop him?"

Gordon felt his throat tighten at her simple and sweet showing of trust and affection. Neither of her parents had seemed inclined to think that their daughter, their only child, required more than just their basic care and attention. They left her day-to-day upbringing to the score of tutors and nanny they had on retainer. What little nurturing Raya received came from either him, her aunt and cousins or her grandfather.

Then Ellen Rae Berkeley came to him a few days ago and begged him to take custody of her daughter before her husband, Raya's father, could start abusing the girl as he did her. Gordon hadn't stopped to think about the repercussions of her request. He and Barbara welcomed the little girl into their home and into their hearts.

Raya started to blossom after she came to live with them. The sad and solemn look faded from her eyes. She no longer jumped at every little sound nor spent every moment glancing fearfully over her shoulder. It gave him hope that the emotional damage her father inflicted upon her with his cruelty could be reversed with time, love and patience.

"That story can wait until another night..." he told her gruffly. "It's time for bed, kiddo."

"Aw, but Uncle Jim..." she complained with a small pout that made her look even more like a fairy. "I'm not sleepy."

Jim chuckled as he brushed her soft curls from her face. "Don't you aw, Uncle Jim, me, young lady," he said. "If you want a bedtime story, it is going to be about something other than me recounting yet another of mine and Batman's exploits to you."

 _Exploits_ , he added silently, _that you already know much too much about as it is_.

"I like listening about your exploits with Batman."

"Yes," he said with another chuckle. "I know that you do." _And I encourage you because I like indulging you_. "How about a Christmas story, instead?"

Raya was silent for all of thirty seconds. "Will you read me 'Twas the Night Before Christmas'?" She darted a look at his face. "Please?"

He should have guessed that would be her story request. Raya was not a whimsical or fanciful child. She didn't believe in things like the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. She only started to accept that heroes existed when Batman came onto the scene just a little over a year and a half ago. He didn't know why she selected this particular poem as a bedtime story, and it didn't matter.

She asked him to tell it to her, and tell it to her he would.

He settled back against the headboard before beginning his recitation.

"'Twas the night before Christmas…"

...

 _He's mumbling that Christmas poem again_ , Erin Tate thought as she entered the room to check on him. Gordon had mumbled that Christmas poem for the better part of the last hour. Erin figured it was somehow related to whatever it was Gordon was dreaming about in his drug induced state. She assumed his thoughts, like any rational persons would be in this situation, were on his family.

Anyone would prefer being with family for Christmas over being stuck here in a hospital bed.

 _But the bad guys don't care about things like Christmas_ , she thought with just a shade of the familiar bitterness. _They don't stop to think about the lives they impact with their violence_.

Erin drew in a ragged breath as she finished adding her notes to his chart. She hung the chart back on the hook at the front of his bed but didn't move so much as an inch from that spot. She feared what might happen if she did move too far away. He deserves the extra attention, she decided as she crossed her arms over his chest.

Ethan told her about how Gordon had gotten trapped in the tunnels that ran beneath the entire city with the rest of his men. It was a miracle that after he got shot that he managed to find his way to that basin at the nuclear power plant. His bulletproof vest, coupled with whatever had slowed the speed of the bullets, was the only thing that prevented his injuries from being fatal. Even still, Gordon was in for a very long, daunting, and intense recovery process.

_That's if he manages to survive the next few days._

Sighing, Erin turned and walked over to the window. She was in need of a change in scenery. For a change in perspective. There were thoughts in her head, whirling faster than that roller coaster she loved riding as a kid. She found she couldn't concentrate on much of anything at the moment. She was far too consumed by the terrifying prospect that the man lying in that hospital bed was going to fall into a coma and die.

 _He will not die_ , she told herself sternly. _His children need him. This city needs him_.

She rest her forehead against the cool windowpane and stared out at the world just beginning to stir. The people of Gotham were rousing themselves from their beds, many lured by the gleaming lights hanging on a tree under which scores of colorfully wrapped items had been left.

Most were woefully and willfully unaware about how they were getting to celebrate Christmas because of a good man risking his life to stop some rifle-toting jack ass from ruining it.

She heard a soft exhalation of air come from behind her, and then heard Gordon muttering, "Twas the night before Christmas..."

Erin turned and walked back to the bed. She laid her fingers against his cheek, and whispered nonsensical words to soothe him. A voice, that belonging to her twin brother, Ethan, spoke from the doorway.

"How is he?"

She glanced over at him. Even in the dim light, she could see the exhaustion, as well as the swirls of grief ghosting his face. _It's been a long night for them all_ , she realized. "Captain Gordon's condition is the same as before."

"And Bullock?"

"Bullock hasn't regained consciousness yet, but his condition's been upgraded from critical to stable."

Ethan sighed and leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. "Do doctors think that Gordon is, at least, gonna make it?"

"He stands a good chance of making it, yes," she said with a nod. "But it'll definitely take time before he's back on his feet."

Ethan let out a soft curse and slammed a fist against the wood paneling. "I just wish I knew who it was that shot him and Bullock. I'd go and arrest the man," he paused to blow out a breath. "Or men responsible if I knew who they were."

"Well, if I had to hazard a guess?" Erin scooped her hair into a messy bun she secured with a pencil. "I would say Gordon has told you the entire time about who it is that shot him."

Ethan cocked an eyebrow. "You think Matthew Berkeley is the one who shot Gordon?"

"Yes." She nodded. "I do."

"Why?"

"Well," she spoke slowly, thoughtfully. "You said Gordon was going on about you needing to find Batman to ask him to become the guardian of his niece, right?"

"Right."

"You've assumed that Captain Gordon was telling you that Raya Berkeley needed a guardian from some unknown assailant. What if he was actually trying to tell you that who she needs protecting from is her own Da?"


	11. Chapter 11

_Batman_ realized he could not walk into Gotham General dressed in his body armor as soon as he found himself standing on the roof of the hospital. However, stripping everything off and going into the hospital dressed as _Bruce Wayne_ wasn't going to work either. There was no logical explanation that he could come up with that would suffice for why either of his personas had come to see Captain Gordon.

The way he saw it, there was only one viable option open to him: rappel down to Gordon's floor and hope the captain wasn't being watched by police or a team of hospital staff. As contingency plans went, it was risky. There was every possibility that hospital staff or security could see him.

It was the best plan he had, though.

He glanced down at the empty street, calculated how many floors he needed to descend before throwing himself off the roof, keeping his cape tucked firmly against his body as he plunged headfirst through the night. Gravity seized him as he hurdled to the alley below, a line of unbreakable monofilament wire unspooling behind him. The predawn wind shrieked past his face.

Gordon had been moved to a private room in the ICU. He counted off the floors as he plummeted past them. _One, two_... He waited until just the right moment before triggering the braking mechanism attached to his belt. _Three_! He came to a halt right outside a room on the tenth floor.

Dim lights penetrated the blinds as he stealthily slid the window open and slipped inside. He made not a sound as he crossed to the prostrate figure in the bed. His heart sank at the sight that greeted him.

Bruce had met James Gordon on what was the absolute worst night of his life. A young detective, freshly promoted, Gordon had attempted to comfort a nine-year-old child who watched his parents murdered right before his eyes. He never forgot Gordon's kindness.

In a city that was full of dirty cops, Gordon stood out as one of the few who possessed any integrity and class whatsoever. He had become an unlikely, but invaluable ally in Batman's war upon crime.

He couldn't have accomplished a lot of what he had if it had not been for Gordon's support.

Now, the courageous detective lay in a hospital bed, hooked to a bunch of machines, close to death. Bruce stared at the blinking and whirring medical equipment monitoring his vital signs. His stats were alarmingly low. An oxygen mask pushed much-needed air into his starved lungs.

IVs pumped fluids as well as much-needed medication into his bruised and battered body. Gordon's face was almost as white as the sheets on which he lay.

Needle-thin scratches crisscrossed his face, arms, and the back of his hands. A livid bruise nearly as black as his armor was just visible above the collar of his hospital gown. Bruce felt the rage always simmering beneath the surface leap to life.

 _Berkeley_.

Berkeley was who hurt Raya. He was who put that mountain of fear in her eyes. He suspected there were many things Berkeley had done to his daughter. Things intended to break her will and make her completely compliant.

He also suspected Berkeley was who hired the one responsible for putting Gordon in this hospital bed.

He slammed a clenched fist on the metal railing, rattling the clipboard that hung off the front of the bed. The sound roused Gordon, whose eyes fluttered open. For a moment, Bruce feared that the sight of a man in a fearsome mask and thick body armor standing at the foot of his bed would cause the Captain to go into a panic.

However, Gordon seemed to recognize that it was him who was there. He attempted to speak, but the oxygen mask stifled his words. Wincing in pain, he tugged the mask away from his mouth.

"You came," he said in a hoarse whisper. "I wasn't sure you..."

"You shouldn't be trying to talk at the moment," Bruce said in Batman's throaty rasp. "You need to conserve your energy so that you..."

"No," Gordon croaked. "I need to ask..."

He broke off to wheeze and gasp. Bruce went to place his oxygen mask back on, but Gordon pushed his hand away.

"You need to..."

"No," Gordon interjected in a voice that had a hint of the steel it normally did. "I need you to protect my niece, Raya." Anxious eyes pleaded with him. "She's in danger."

"From her father."

He didn't phrase it as a question because he already knew the answer. Yet, nothing prepared him for what Gordon was going to tell him next.

"He killed his wife."

Shock crashed over him in waves. "What?"

"Raya was there, she saw it," Gordon said throatily. "That's why you have to take her. You have to take her and hide her. You have to take her and hide her and protect her."

 _Does he even know what he's asking of me here_? Bruce wondered.

"I can't take your niece."

"Yes, yo-"

"No," he said firmly. "I can't. My life isn't one designed for a child. It's far too dangerous."

Gordon clutched at his gloved hand with fingers born of desperation.

"You have to take her. You have to take her and hide her and protect her."

"Jim..."

"He'll kill her if you don't."

...

Trust the night.

The phrase flickered into Bruce's mind as he plunged into the shadows of the labyrinthine tunnels that led into the subterranean cavern beneath Wayne Manor. The words were a reminder telling him that no matter how dire a situation might seem or how hopeless things might seem, so long as he trusted in the night to guide him, everything would turn out all right.

The night was the one constant in his life that never failed him.

Yet, even he found himself wondering if the night had not lost its mind. Exactly what the night was about in giving him a child to guard, he couldn't say. What the lesson here was, he didn't know. All he knew as he expertly traversed the narrow passageways was that the night had decided he needed to protect a small girl from a man who meant her great, physical harm.

And protect her he would.

From this night forward, he and Raya were irrevocably bound by a thread as unbreakable as the wire he used to gain entrance to her uncle's hospital room. Night had decreed it, fate had aided in it happening, and violence had sealed the pact in blood. The tunnel began to widen and grow lighter a few seconds later.

He flew out the chute into the Batcave and allowed the Batwing to hover while a pair of slate cubes rose to form a landing pad. He touched down on the cubes.

The canopy opened and _Batman_ emerged into the subdued interior lighting he installed just over a year ago, into the interior of the underground fortress he started building after he returned from his journey to become Gotham's nocturnal protector.

He activated the cowl's hands-free as he began walking across the platform towards the stairs that led up to the main platform and the huge computer workstation he painstakingly put together to aide him in monitoring the city and its criminals.

"Alfred, I'm home."

The butler's voice, carried directly to his ear, was coated in relief, or perhaps exasperation. He never could tell which. " _I am pleased to hear your voice, sir. Did all go well? Were you able to locate Captain Gordon?"_

"I found him," he replied. "He's currently in the ICU at Gotham General."

" _Oh, my_." There was a note of dismay and concern now in Alfred's voice. " _His condition is serious, I am taking it?"_

"The next twenty-four hours are critical."

" _This will not please the young miss to hear_." Alfred's sigh was loud in his ear. " _She's_ _going to want to see him."_

"Gordon has instructed me to not bring her to the hospital."

"May I ask why, sir?"

With a sigh of his own, Bruce walked up the ramp into the main grotto of the cave. He passed the area that served as his crime lab before ascending another set of short steps to the main computer station. A large, high-definition flat screen monitor dominated the wall while seven linked Cray supercomputers hummed quietly, providing enough data storage and computing power to run the entire city.

He shed his cape and the cowl, simultaneously balancing between the vigilante and the billionaire. He pressed a few keys on the keyboard to route the call from the speaker in his cowl to the computer.

"Gordon told me that Berkeley killed Raya's mother." He paused to run a hand over his face. "He says that she may have witnessed what happened."

"And?"

Bruce's lips twitched. Leave it to Alfred to just get to the heart of the matter.

"And he says that Berkeley will kill Raya if he can get his hands on her."

" _Good heavens._.." There was genuine anger and disgust in the older gentleman's voice that echoed that burning in Bruce's heart. " _And what is it that Captain Gordon wants you to do, exactly_?"

"He wants me to keep her safe."

" _Surely he realizes the girl's father has a legal and unassailable right to her_."

"Ellen Kean-Berkeley signed custody of Raya over to Gordon a few days ago. He's her legal guardian. Something," he said with a frown, "I think Berkeley found out about."

Alfred made a soft speculative sound. " _That sounds like a potential motive for murder to me."_

"Yes," he growled. "And it's very likely the reason for why Gordon was shot tonight. Berkeley is eliminating everybody who can finger him in his wife's murder. The last one he needs to get rid of is Raya. And Gordon stands in his way."

" _I'm afraid that Miss Raya already confirmed as much to me in our conversation earlier."_

Both of his eyebrows shot up at that startling revelation. "Raya told you about what happened the night her mother was murdered?"

" _Not in any specific details, no_ ," was the butler's gentle reply. " _She only said enough that I was able to infer the events for myself."_

Bruce knew that Alfred's inferences were almost always spot-on.

"Did she see what happened?"

 _"I can confirm that she did, indeed, see what happened to her mother. And_ ," he added on a heavy sigh, " _she_ _blames herself for it_."

Bruce's felt his heart constrict at hearing Raya blamed herself for what happened. _Just like I blame myself for what happened to Mother and Father._

"Did she say why she blames herself for what happened to her mother?"

" _You should ask her that, Master Bruce_."

He already figured that would be Alfred's answer. The man _was_ predictable in a way. His lips curved at the corners.

"Where is our guest at the moment?"

" _She is asleep in the library. Something that you_ ," the butler advised pointedly, " _really_ _should try to do yourself, sir. She will expect Master Wayne looking like a pampered and well-rested playboy when she greets him for the first time this morning_."

She'd greet him and not her family. Bruce found himself again reminded about how much he shared in common with the girl asleep upstairs. _Just like me, senseless violence has taken her world and turned it completely upside down._

Raya was spending this Christmas as an orphan. Her mother was dead, her uncle was near death in the hospital, and the rest of her family was only God knew where. She had nobody to share the magic of the season with. _Well_ , he amended silently. _She has us_. Even as he thought it, he knew it wouldn't be the same. As much as they tried, they were not her family.

He ignored the voice whispering to him about how, "they could be."

"It's Christmas, Alfred," he said quietly.

" _Indeed it is, Master Bruce_ ," was the butler's drawled response. " _I am glad to know that you have finally remembered today is a holiday_."

"She doesn't even have presents beneath the Christmas tree to wake up to this morning." His shoulders slumped as the familiar weight of responsibility settled heavily upon his shoulders. "All she has is waking up in a house that is not her own, with a bunch of strangers who are not her family, and an endless amount of uncertainty and pain to deal with."

 _"If I may say so, but you've already given Miss Raya exactly what it was that she wanted this Christmas_."

"And what was that, Alfred?"

" _You gave her a Knight for Christmas_."

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all, and welcome!
> 
> This story is set during the early years of Batman's career (about two years in). It is set before the introduction of Dick Grayson as Robin. This story helps to establish a few things that happen in the rest of the stories I write. I don't see this story as being so much an AU (as everything happening in canon does still happen) as I see it as a story set in another of DC's Earth-verses.
> 
> Please, if you like this story, kudo/bookmark it. Also, feel free to comment. I welcome constructive feedback. Thanks and have a Happy Holidays!


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